Hurricane
by Skybright Daye
Summary: Jake and Chance need help -- at the garage and in the air. Is an ex-Enforcer with a tragic past the solution to their problem? (This fic is FINALLY completed!!!)
1. Default Chapter Title

You know the drill: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em. Maggie Blackclaw is mine. Matthew Blackclaw is mine. Hurricane Squadron is mine. M.K.D.S. is mine. Pretty much anything else that you don't recognize is mine. Anything you do recognize is someone else's, or else you're having de ja vu. Kay?  
This is my first FF.Net post & I'm anxious to know what you think -- so please R'n'R!   
Oh, *Ketsele* is a Yiddish word. It means "kitten"  
  
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"Look, Maggie, I'm sorry about this."  
  
"I'll bet you are, Max."  
  
Max Windham threw his paws in the air. "What am I supposed to do, huh? Your attitude's wrecking my business, Maggie, and I can't just let it slide. I gotta make a living." His shoulders slumped. "Crud, Maggie, you punched out a customer."  
  
"He had it coming." Maggie said, narrowing inscrutable green eyes. "Nobody talks like that to me."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry if he bruised your pride." Max said sarcastically. "But you broke the kat's nose. He's agreed not to sue me, but I'm afraid you've got to go."  
  
"No problem." Maggie snapped. "I was getting tired of this grease pit anyway."  
  
"Hey, look, Maggie . . . ." He frowned. "You're the best mechanic I've had in years. I'm sorry . . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "No hard feelings, Max."  
  
"Thanks, Maggie. Look, I've got a cousin downtown, he needs a clerk. I could put in the good word for ya . . . ."  
  
"No thanks, Max. I'll be leaving town, soon as I fix the bike." She sighed. "Six months is a long time for me to stay in one place. The road's calling again."  
  
Max held out his paw. "Best of luck, Maggie."  
  
"Yeah," she said over her shoulder as she turned away, "Thanks."  
  
  
Maggie Blackclaw pushed thick black bangs out of her eyes and squinted against the harsh desert sun. Ten jobs, in eight towns, in four years. And that didn't include all of the one or two-night singing engagements she'd taken while on the road, swapping her vocal talents for enough cash to keep her moving.   
  
*Why can't you stay still?* The wind whispered sinuously. *What are you running from?*  
  
*A bitter past and a hopeless future.* She thought cynically, finishing the repairs on her road bike. *A dead squadron and a misplaced blame, and a family name that I stained with shame.* She grinned half-heartedly. With a little work, that could be a verse in one of her songs. She hummed an experimental tune and stood up.   
  
The hot desert wind blew through her thick black hair and kicked up dust devils to match her sand-colored fur. Slinging the last of her packs onto the bike, she tightened a strap and pulled on her helmet and gloves. "Well?" She asked the wind, "Where to now?"  
  
As if in answer, the wind flung a tattered newspaper into her face with a thwack. She peeled it off her face and squinted through her helmet's visor. MEGAKAT CITY TIMES, the paper read. Maggie chuckled.  
  
"Home again, home again, huh? Well, far be it from me to ignore a sign. Besides, I haven't seen uncle Matt in far too long." Tossing the paper over her shoulder, she mounted up and started her bike. Heading for the highway without a second glance, Maggie never caught the paper's headline: VIPER STRIKES AGAIN. SWAT KATS SAVE MKC FROM CERTAIN DOOM.  
  
  
Megakat City hadn't changed much in the two years since Maggie had been there. She stopped at a small diner on the outskirts for some coffee and some information. The aging, motherly she-kat behind the counter was more than happy to tell her what she could -- yes, the job market was good, if you were willing to get your paws dirty; no, the housing wasn't so good, rent was high and apartments were few and far between; my, wasn't the weather warm, and had Maggie heard about that terrible Doctor Viper and his awful mutations?   
  
"Oh, it was lucky for us that those Swat Kats were here!" The she-kat clucked. "We all would be in such trouble if it wasn't for those two. I don't care what the Enforcer chap says, they're heroes, pure and simple heroes. That's my opinion. More coffee, dear?"  
  
Maggie listened with interest to everything but the weather chat, and decided two things. First of all, she wanted to know more about these Swat Kats. She'd heard stories, of course, but with the kind of company she kept it was hard to know what was true and what was hearsay. Second of all, she would worry about a job and a place to stay after she saw her uncle Matthew.  
  
  
She took the old familiar streets that led to one of the poorer sections of town -- not the worst neighborhood in MKC, and certainly not one of the most crime-ridden, but still not the best the city had to offer. She stopped the bike in front of a tall old brownstone with a wheelchair lift in the front. Two kittens, a boy and a smaller girl, sat in front. The watched with wide eyes as she dismounted and pulled her helmet off. She smiled at the bigger of the two.  
  
"Howdy. Does Matthew Blackclaw still live in this building?"  
  
"Yeah. First floor."  
  
The girl kitten smiled trustfully and cuddled her doll. "He's nice. He tells us stories. Shyler likes him." She held up the doll, indicating that it was Shyler.  
  
"That's good." Maggie crouched so that she was on the same level as the kittens. "What's your name?"  
  
"We're not supposed to talk to strange kats." The boy interrupted gruffly.  
  
"That's true." Maggie agreed. "Tell you what -- I'm Maggie and I'm twenty-six years old and that," She pointed, "Is my bike, and I'm Matthew's niece. Am I still a stranger?"  
  
"Maybe." The boy twitched his tail. "That's your bike?"  
  
"Yep. And I have a very important job for someone. I need someone to watch my bike for me, but he -- or she -- has to be very brave and very tough. I'll probably need two people to watch it, since it's a big bike. Do you know any tough kats I could find to do that for me?"  
  
"We could, Marcus." The girl said. "Couldn't we? We're brave."  
  
"Yeah." The boy agreed. "I think we could watch it for you, Maggie. Me and Eppie. Eppie's my sister." He confided.  
  
"Great!" Maggie exclaimed. "You two look like the kind of rough characters I need to watch my bike. I bet Doctor Viper himself wouldn't mess with you!"  
  
"That's right!" The boy's chest swelled with kittenish pride. "I'm going to be a Swat Kat someday."  
  
"Are you?" Maggie grinned. *When I was his age, we were going to be Enforcers someday.* "Well, I feel much better knowing that a future Swat Kat is on guard." She gave him a modified Enforcer salute, which he returned, and sprinted up the steps to the front door.  
  
Maggie smiled as she stood at the door of 1-a. Uncle Matthew had lived in the same apartment building since she was a kitten; the sight of the familiar corridor brought back memories, from her fifth birthday, to the day she had graduated from the Enforcers Flight Academy, to the fateful days after the court-martial . . . .  
  
*NO!* She shook her head stubbornly. *I'm not going to think about that today.* She knocked.  
  
From inside, a familiar voice called, "Coming! Please hold on!" There was a scraping as the apartment's inhabitant reached the door. "Who is it?"  
  
"FastKat delivery service." Maggie called, trying to disguise her voice.  
  
There was silence on the other side of the door. "Maggie? Is that you?" Her uncle's deep, hearty laugh echoed as the chain bolt slid back.   
  
Matthew Blackclaw wheeled backwards as he opened the door. "Behold, behold! The prodigal kitten returns at last!"  
  
Maggie laughed, too. "I could never fool you with that voice thing, could I?"  
  
"Of course not! I taught it to you!" He maneuvered himself out of the doorway. "Come in, *ketsele*, come in! You've been away too long!"  
  
Matthew Blackclaw was a thin, wiry kat with charcoal grey fur and laughing blue eyes. Confined to a wheelchair due to a bout with polio in early kittenhood, he was her father's older brother -- and the only family that Maggie had left. Maggie watched him as he escorted her into the familiar living room. His fur was going white around his eyes and on the tips of his ears, and the goatee which had always been his distinguishing feature had turned white as well. Otherwise, he looked exactly as he had when she was a kitten.  
  
"Sit, sit!" He commanded, waving a paw at an armchair. "Would you like coffee?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurried into the kitchen. "So," He called, "What brings my prodigal home again?"  
  
She answered. " I decided to follow the road, remember? Well, all roads lead to MKC, I guess."  
  
"Ah." Her uncle wheeled back into the living room, balancing a tray and two cups of coffee. "And are you here to stay?"  
  
She accepted the coffee and shook her head sheepishly. "No . . . yes. I don't know. I still have a lot of things to deal with. A lot of bad memories, most of them connected with this town."  
  
Her uncle's eyes narrowed sympathetically. "After all these years? Do you still have nightmares, *ketsele*?"  
  
"Sometimes. Once in a while." Maggie rubbed the back of her neck. "It's getting better."  
  
"Four years is a long time, Maggie, to carry that kind of guilt." He said.  
  
"It's not guilt!" She protested. "It's . . . ." She sighed. "It's just -- I don't know. It's hard to forget that kind of thing, you know?"  
  
"Let it go, Maggie." He said gently. "You carried no fault. The blame for their deaths lies with others -- not with you."  
  
"I know." She took a drink of the coffee. "What burns me is that those hotshots at M.K.D.S. got away with it."  
  
"Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all." Matthew smiled. "What about a job?"  
  
"I just got into town. The she-kat at the Koffee Kat said it wouldn't be too hard for me to find a job."  
  
Matthew chuckled. "The she-kat at the Koffee Kat is sorely mistaken. There's no call for scientists, except at Pumadyne. Auto mechanic, cashier, musician -- unskilled work, that's the only kind of job you'll be finding."  
  
"That's the only kind of job I'll be looking for, uncle Matthew." She held up her paw against her uncle's protest. "I don't want anything to do with Pumadyne, or anyplace like it. "  
  
Matthew sighed and shook his head. "You're not the kind of person who should be living as a unskilled worker, Maggie. You're brilliant, we both know that. You could be a scientist, a designer of great things."  
  
"I was a designer of great things, Uncle Matt, and it didn't bring me any happiness. All it brought me was death." She shrugged and grinned. "Besides, auto mechanics is not unskilled work. I'd like to see you fine-tune the engine on a '72 Nova."  
  
Matthew laughed. "Like I told you when you left, ketsele, whatever brings you joy."  
  
"Right." Anxious to change the subject, she asked, "So, what about these Swat Kats everyone's talking about?"  
  
"You haven't heard of them?" He uncle looked flabbergasted.  
  
"Uncle, one thing I've learned from life on the road is that you take everything you hear with a heaping helping of salt." She laughed. "Some kats I've talked to claim the Swat Kats can turn invisible. Others swear that their jet can fly faster than light. And speculations on their identities? If I had a dollar for every different theory, I could buy this building. News gets diluted, as far away as I've traveled. The only concrete facts I can pin down are that there's two of them, they have a jet, they turned up about the same time I left last time, nobody knows who they are, and they get a kick out of bashing bad kats and tormenting Feral."  
  
"Well," Her uncle said, "That covers the basics, but the details are even better. Let me tell you about the stories I know."  
  
  
"I know one thing." Chance said, slamming down the hood of a car. "We can stick a fork in this hunk of junk, because it is done."  
  
Jake, flat on his back on a dolly, rolled out from under another vehicle. His fur was streaked with grease. Are you sure?"  
  
"Oh yes." Chance kicked the car's tire in frustration. "Divine Intervention couldn't get this thing moving again. There's a crack in the engine block this wide." He held his paws up, about six inches apart.  
  
"Aw, Chance." Jake sighed, wiping his forehead on the back of his least-greasy forearm, "That means we'll have to replace the whole engine."  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it. That's on top of the six cars we've already got waiting for work, and the repairs we've gotta make on the Turbokat." He shook his head. "I gotta tell you, buddy, we're really getting backed up here."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Jake pulled himself back under the Chevy. "But what are we . . ."  
  
He was interrupted by the phone ringing. Chance grabbed it. "Jake and Chance's Garage. Yes, Miss Briggs? . . . The carburetor again? . . . I don't know, ma'am. We're awfully backed up here . . . I guess we could take a look at it. It'll probably have to wait until tomorrow . . . Okay." He sighed. "Bring it in. We'll see what we can do." He hung up with a resigned sigh.  
  
"Not again!" Jake's voice rang from under the Chevy.  
  
"Yes, again. The green monster needs carburetor work." Chance sighed and popped the hood on a Buick. "She really, really needs a new car."  
  
"We could build her a new car with the parts we've put into that thing." Jake said sarcastically. "And in case you haven't noticed, we don't really have time to look at Callie's carburetor."  
  
"I know that and you know that." Chance snapped. "What did you want me to tell her? 'Sorry, but we're just too busy'? Jake, she's about the only person up top who doesn't treat us like scum because we're mechanics. And she's the deputy mayor. And . . . ."  
  
"Okay, okay, point taken." Jake said calmly, still entrenched under the car. "But we're never gonna have time to get the Turbokat fixed if this keeps up."  
  
Chance sighed. "Let's put an announcement in the paper: 'Viper, Metallikats, and other assorted bad guys, please back off until we can get our work caught up. Sincerely, Razor and T- Bone.'"  
  
Jake rolled backwards with one quick motion. "Chance, you're a genius."  
  
"Thanks, I know." Chance stuck his head out from under the Buick's hood. "What did I say now?"  
  
"We'll take out an ad!" Jake grinned, wiping his paws on a grease rag as he stood up.  
  
"Whoa, whoa. Jake, I was kidding!" Chance exclaimed, holding up his paws. "I don't think Viper reads the Times."  
  
"No, Chance, I mean a help wanted ad." Jake grabbed a notebook and a pen. "Wanted: one mechanic for immediate employment. Payment negotiable, living quarters available. Must have experience with all makes and models of car and be willing . . . ."  
  
"To work with the Swat Kats." Chance finished. "Jake, you are nuts. Certifiably nuts. This will not work."  
  
"What do you mean?" Jake asked, looking up. "There's two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs that we never use. With the housing market the way it is, anybody would take the job."  
  
"HELLO? Megakat City to Jake, are you with us?" Chance waved a paw in front of his partner's face. "We're the SWAT KATS, remember? We can't just take out a want ad!"  
  
Jake sighed. "Look, if we don't get the Turbokat fixed there aren't gonna be any Swat Kats around, anyway. It will not fly until I can replace those fused cables in the engine, and that's not going to happen if we're neck deep in busted cars."  
  
"Okay, you've got a point there. But how are we supposed to keep the hangar hidden from an employee, let alone someone who lives here? How are we supposed to explain it when the alarm goes off? 'Oh, hang on, that's our other phone'?"  
  
"I can rig the alarm so it'll be silent -- they won't hear it. And the hanger's well-hidden -- after all, we were the first ones to find it after MegaWar III, right? That was what, fifty years ago?" Jake set the notebook down. "C'mon, Chance, you're just jealous because I thought of it first."  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am NOT!"  
  
"Are too, times infinity!"  
  
"Aaargh!"  
  
  
  
The sun shone bright and hot on the tarmac under their boots, reflecting off the planes before them in a brilliant silver shimmer. *Those* planes, finer and faster than anything else the Enforcers had, newly built and never battle-tested -- until today. Being the first pilot to fly one of *those* planes was amazing, an honor, a thrill.  
  
But they deserved it. After all, they were Hurricane Squadron, the best and brightest the Enforcers could offer. They were top guns, these six Majors: Scott Lewis, a gray-and-brown tabby with a chunk missing from one ear; Salena Fowler, a Siamese whose pretty exterior belied her tough-as-nails attitude; Felix DeLaHoya, who wore his black hair in a ponytail at the back of his neck; Tami Sherwood, Felix's wife, a slim she-kat with ginger colored fur and short black hair; Thomas Meowland, a strong, well-built brown tomkat.  
  
And Maggie Blackclaw, leader of Hurricane Squadron and co-designer of *those* planes. Well, co-co-designer; she had contributed the designs of the engines. But she had pored over the rest of the designs as well, for a pilot had to know every bolt of her plane.  
  
Which was why she knew what was wrong -- or, rather, that something was wrong, something important; she couldn't quite remember what. *What does it matter?* She thought, watching her squadron and watching those planes. *It'll probably come back to me when we land.*  
  
Hurricane Squadron laughed and slapped paws before leaping into their cockpits. "All right!" Scott yelled, his love for a fight kicking in, "Let's go kick some Canine tail!"  
  
Because that was the reason *those* planes had been built; a border war with the neighboring country of Canis, a conflict that needed to be won in a swift show of force. Nobody needed to remember how the previous war had dragged on, with Enforcer troops warring for a decade against the Viet Kat. This war needed to be over quickly and cleanly, the land that had been taken regained. That was the reason that those planes roared into battle over the Megakat Desert, although they hadn't been fully tested.  
  
*The tests, the tests, it has something to do with the tests!* Maggie remembered. And then the bogies screamed in at ten o'clock high, and Maggie shouted orders to her squadron. "Use the Sideswipers, make this short and sweet!"  
  
*The missiles the missiles the missiles, why can't I remember? The missiles, the tests . . . .*  
  
And then Tom screamed. "The missiles won't deploy! I've got nothing, all weapons systems are flatlining!" And then there was a brilliant flash of blinding white light as Tom and his plane ceased to be.  
  
*The weapons systems aren't fully tested!* Maggie remembered as she let out a scream of grief for her fallen comrade. "Hurricanes, pull out, we've got to get out of here!"  
  
"I'm dead in the air!" Tami shouted frantically. "We couldn't shoot spit wads, how do we get them off our . . . ." Her sentence ended in a scream as the enemy missiles found their mark.  
  
"TAMI!!!" Felix screamed. "You're gonna pay for that, you scumwads!" With that, Felix sent his plane spiraling into the enemy plane that had destroyed his wife. Both planes exploded in a shower of shrapnel.  
  
"Felix, NO!" Maggie shouted, too late, and realization hit her like a fist. *That's what it was, the weapons systems, and now I'm going to watch them die . . . .*  
  
And watch she did, helpless as Salena's plane became a fireball, as a Canine missile tore the tail off of Scott's plane and sent it spiraling to earth, where it burst into flames . . . .  
  
All she could do was watch and scream as a missile detonated a foot from her wingtip, shrapnel shearing off the tip of her wing as her engine burst into flames, and with a heart that was sick with sadness she did what Scott, for some reason, had not done -- she ejected, watching helplessly as the last of *those* planes plummeted to earth, watching and hearing the death screams of her squadron echo in her ears . . . .  
She woke up screaming.  
  
TBC  
(Dramatic swell of music)  
  
Well, what d'ya think? You like, you love, you hate? You let me know, ok? Part 2 coming soon! 


	2. Default Chapter Title

  
Same old song and dance: I own some, I borrowed some, I'm broke either way, so don't bother suing me, 'cause you can't get blood from a parsnip (I borrowed that, too). Thanx so much to everyone who read & reviewed Part One. If you want to make me really happy, R&R this part, too!  
  
Before anyone asks, the people who live in Canis are kats, too -- not some other species that looks like dogs.   
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Maggie sat at the old, scarred wooden table in her Uncle Matthew's kitchen, staring listlessly into a cup of lukewarm instant coffee. The digital clock by the sink read 3:19 am in glaring red letters. She had been awake for almost an hour now.  
  
At least Uncle Matt had -- miraculously -- not been awakened by her screaming. The kindly old kat would have no doubt struggled into his wheelchair and rushed to see what was wrong -- and company, right now, was the last thing Maggie wanted. The nightmare turned itself over and over again in her mind, every accusing detail gnawing at her heart.  
  
*If only . . . .* Maggie shook the thought away, but it persisted. The list of "if only's" went on for miles. If only she had examined the weapons schematics more closely; if only the Enforcers had been in less of a hurry to get the new planes in the air; if only the defense contractor hadn't been so quick to comply, sacrificing safety for shoddy designs and engineering.  
  
If only someone had known the truth about MegaKat Defense Systems. As soon as they had received payment for the planes, the company had quickly and silently disbanded. Even as Hurricane Squadron had been taking off for their fateful battle, the owners and CEOs of M.K.D.S. had been making tracks for any nation with no extradition treaty, leaving the Enforcers with their finest squadron dead -- and no one to blame.  
  
As for Maggie . . .she shuddered. The battle had been over Canine-occupied territory, and she had ejected right into the enemy's hands. What had followed was seven weeks in the hands of the Canine Intelligence Agency, weeks when she had never been sure the next day wouldn't see her shot for espionage. Heaven only knew how many hours of CIA questioning it had taken before they decided she wasn't a spy.  
  
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the war had been over. Fearing the greater numbers of the enemy, Canis had called a cease-fire and negotiated a truce. Maggie, no longer a prisoner- of-war, had returned home, relieved to be out of the frying pan.  
  
She had, of course, jumped right into the fire.  
  
The top brass at Enforcers HQ had made a grievous mistake by hiring M.K.D.S., and they had been left with no one to blame but themselves. Under intense scrutiny from the public and the media, they had cast about anxiously for someone -- anyone -- that they could use as a scapegoat.  
  
*And I was who they found.* Maggie thought wryly, taking a drink of the now-cold coffee. She traced an aimless design on the tabletop with one claw. *At least my father wasn't there to see it.*  
  
She looked up, regretfully, at the row of photographs on the kitchen counter. There was her father on his first day as an Enforcer, proudly saluting the camera, his face serious but his eyes laughing. Next to that was her mother and father together, leaning against the classic Katillac that had been Daddy's pride and joy. Her mother's paws rested protectively on an obviously-pregnant stomach; her father's paws rested protectively on her mother and the car. The third photograph was of her father and Uncle Matt, younger and not as gray, seated together at the same table where Maggie now sat. The fourth was of the three of them -- she, her father, and Uncle Matthew, taken on her fifth birthday. Maggie's own bright eyes stared back at her from the photo, eyes the same shade of green as the eyes of the mother she had never known.  
  
The last photograph was Maggie on the day she had graduated from the Flight Academy - - seven long years ago. Her pose mimicked that of her father -- a smile in her eyes and a proud salute. The only difference was the insignia affixed to her collar. While her father had worked his way up from a recruit, earning the rank of Brigadier General after years of service, Maggie had gone through the Flight Academy, emerging as a fully-commissioned officer -- a Second Lieutenant. At nineteen, she had been one of the youngest she-kats ever to hold the rank.   
  
"It wasn't surprising, was it, Daddy?" Maggie asked the photo of her father. "You raised me to love the sky." *And part of me,* she added silently, *Always will.*  
  
Her intense love of the air and aircraft had been nurtured from an early age by her father, who was delighted that his daughter shared his passion. When she had decided to enter the Flight Academy at seventeen, a year earlier than was customary, he had supported her wholeheartedly. And no one had been prouder when she had finished the three-year program in two years -- amidst whispers that her father's ties to the top brass had earned her rapid promotions. Maggie had ignored them. There wasn't any truth in the rumors, anyway -- her father had not been that kind of kat.   
  
What he had been was a loving, proud, and devoted father, one whose death had come as a shock to everyone who knew him -- one who Maggie still missed terribly. *But at least,* she thought sadly, *At least he never saw how badly I disgraced his name.* Maggie stood up, trying to avoid the knowing gleam in the eyes of her father. *I'm sorry, Dad.* She thought. *Maybe I just wasn't cut out to be an Enforcer, after all.*  
  
She dumped her ice-cold coffee in the sink and went to try and go back to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
TWO DAYS LATER  
  
"This is going to work for sure." Jake tightened yet another bolt in the Dodge's engine, then stepped back. "Okay, try it now."  
  
Chance nodded and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed, turned over, spluttered to life -- and then promptly died.  
  
"Crud!" Jake thumped the hood angrily.  
  
"Take it easy, buddy." Chance said calmly. "Let's try one more thing."   
  
"I've been trying 'one more thing' for two hours." Jake grumbled. " What the heck is wrong with this hunk of junk ? It was purring like a kitten last night."  
  
"Bad starter?" Chance suggested.  
  
"Tried it." Jake said. Then he yawned.  
  
"Fuel injector?"  
  
"Checked it."  
  
"Spark plugs?"  
  
"Brand new." He rubbed the back of his neck in puzzlement. "What the heck is wrong?" He repeated.  
  
Chance looked down at the car's dash, frowned, and tapped an indicator light with one claw. "Jake?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Did you check the battery?"  
  
Jake's eyes widened and he slapped his forehead. "Aw, crud! I must have left the lights on when I quit working on it last night!"  
  
Chance rolled his eyes. "That'd do it, all right." He shot a concerned look at his partner as he stepped out of the car. "Jake, how late were you up last night?"  
  
"We - ell . . ." Jake broke the word into two hesitant syllables, then murmured something incoherent.  
  
"What was that?" Chance crossed his arms and glared at Jake, who looked sheepish.  
  
"I said," Jake admitted, "Until three-thirty."  
  
"What!?" Chance scowled. "You were up at six-thirty this morning!"  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it." Jake said, staring at the car. "I could have sworn I turned the lights off."  
  
"Well, three hours shouldn't have been enough to kill the battery." Chance glared. "And three hours of sleep isn't enough for you to be running on."  
  
"Well, I actually only worked on this until about ten o'clock --then I went down to work on the Turbokat. I remember I replaced that smashed headlight before I headed for the hangar . . .I must have left the lights on after I checked it." Jake forced a smile. "I got the Turbokat working again, though."  
  
Chance ignored the change of subject. "So tell me something, hotshot," Chance said, leaning back against the car, "What if Viper shows up today?"  
  
"Huh?" Jake looked puzzled.   
  
"Viper. You know, *Doctor* Viper? Short green kat with fangs and a tail? Or how about the Metallikats? What if they decide to drop in?"  
  
Jake frowned. "I told you, I got the Turbokat working again. We can handle it if anything comes up."  
  
"Can we?" Chance's tail twitched in exasperation. "What if you're so tired you can't see the weapons display?"  
  
"C'mon, Chance, it was only last night." Jake said. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"I *am* gonna worry about it." Chance said, "And do you know why?"  
  
Jake sighed. "I don't know, Chance. Why?"  
  
"Because with you it's never 'only last night' or 'just this once'. Whenever you've got work to do you obsess over it until it gets done."  
  
Jake crossed his arms. "I do *not* obsess."  
  
Chance stared at him without saying anything.  
  
"Okay, maybe I obsess a little." Another glare. "Or a lot."  
  
"That's better." Chance sighed. "Okay, the truth. How many nights have you been staying up late?"  
  
"Um . . . ." Jake stared at his feet. "Three?"  
  
Chance threw up his paws. "I give up. I live with a workaholic, and that's just the way it is."  
  
"Aw, Chance, cut it out." Jake would have said more, but the sentence was cut off by an enormous yawn.  
  
"Okay, that's it." Chance left the garage and headed for the kitchen.  
  
"That's what?" Jake followed him into the smaller room, where he found his friend rooting through the drawers. "What are you looking for?"  
  
"Phone book."  
  
"It's over on the counter -- by the phone."  
  
Chance stopped rooting and looked up. "Oh." He crossed the room and grabbed the book. "Where's that notepad you were using on Saturday?"  
  
"In the top drawer." Jake yawned again. "Would you please tell me what you're doing?"  
  
Chance thumbed through the phone book. "I'm calling the Times."  
  
"Um . . . mind if I ask why?"  
  
"Because," Chance said, dialing, "We're going to place that want ad you wrote."  
  
  
  
"It's not that I don't love this apartment, Uncle Matt." Maggie explained. The Megakat City Times littered the kitchen table between them. "But I can't live here."  
  
"And why not?" He spread his paws. "You would not be imposing."  
  
"Are you mad?" Mrs. Dayport, Matthew's next-door neighbor and part-time caregiver, spoke up. "Two Blackclaws in one house? You'd drive me straight to the bottle, that's for sure." The brisk, portly she-kat gave the dish she was holding an extra-vigorous scrub. "Besides, Matthew, she's no longer a kitten. Her own place and her own life is what she needs, not you always nagging her."  
  
"Me?" Matthew looked shocked. "Me, nagging? Tell me this, Valerie -- which of us is always complaining when there's dirty socks on the living room floor?"  
  
"And which of us," Valerie countered, "Is always the one throwing them there? If you didn't drive me to the bottle, no doubt you'd drive Maggie off the wall. Cleanliness may be next to Godliness, Matthew, but for you, it's next to impossible."  
  
"All right, you two, all right." Maggie laughed. "Call a truce, please. I nearly flunked Negotiation Tactics, so I probably won't be able to talk you out of strangling each other."  
  
Matthew laughed as well. "Whatever you say, ketsele. Come, then, and let us find you a job."  
  
"What about this one?" Valerie asked, drying her paws on a dishrag as she moved to the table. She pointed. "There. I read it in my husband's copy of the paper this morning."  
  
WANTED: ONE MECHANIC FOR IMMEDIATE EMPLOYMENT. PAYMENT NEGOTIABLE, APARTMENT AVAILABLE. MUST HAVE EXPERIENCE WITH ALL MAKES AND MODELS OF CAR AND BE WILLING TO WORK AT UNUSUAL HOURS. APPLY IN PERSON AT JAKE & CHANCE'S GARAGE.  
  
"Looks promising to me." Matthew said, as he finished reading it. "We could kill two birds with one stone, as they say."  
  
Maggie laughed. "A minute ago you couldn't bear to part with me. Now you can't wait for me to leave."  
  
"Oh, you know what I meant, ketsele!" He said. He reached out and put his paw on Maggie's shoulder. "You will always be welcome in my home."  
  
Maggie smiled thankfully. "I know." Then she looked back to the ad. "Well, this is as good a place to start as any. Where is this garage, anyway?"  
  
"On the south side of town." Valerie said. "Out on the very edge of the city limits."  
  
Maggie frowned. "The scrapyard? I thought Burke Lindsay and Murray O'Rourke ran that place for the Enforcers."  
  
"I don't know about that," Valerie replied, drying off a casserole dish, "A couple of kats named Jake Clawson and Chance Furlong run it now. Nice boys." She smiled. "They fixed my Honda when it was making that awful chunking noise last year."  
  
"Clawson and Furlong?" Maggie repeated. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Do you know them?" Valerie asked.  
  
"Not exactly." Maggie said, confused. "They were in the academy two years behind me. A real pair of hotshots, from what I remember. They would have graduated about a year before . . . well, before the Desert War. I would think they'd be pretty high in the ranks by now."  
  
"Well, they're not." Valerie said. "They're mechanics, now days. I wonder what happened?"  
  
Maggie shrugged and folded the paper. "I don't know. But it sounds to me like I'm not the only kat in town who's had a falling out with the Enforcers." She grinned. "I've got a feeling I'm going to like these kats."  
  
"Are you going, then?" Matthew asked.  
  
"Yep." Maggie gave him a quick hug and headed for the door. "I'll be back later."  
  
Matthew smiled at Valerie as the door closed. "Ah, for the days when she was still a kitten on my lap."  
  
Valerie sighed sentimentally. "Nothing lasts forever, Matthew."  
  
"I know." He glanced for a moment at the photographs on the kitchen counter. "I had higher hopes for her that this -- looking for a job as an auto mechanic. I thought she would be making a difference . . . ."  
  
"Matthew!" Valerie chided. "Don't you ever think that way about Maggie! That she's happy is all that matters. She doesn't have to be an Enforcer to make a difference."  
  
Matthew nodded and smiled. "You're right, of course. Where would I be without you to keep me on track, Valerie?"  
  
She smiled at her old friend. "Neck-deep in trouble, no doubt. Come on, help me finish these dishes."  
  
  
Chance wiped his forehead on the back of his arm and stepped back. "Well, one more down." He remarked.   
  
"Yeah, and only three more to go." Jake commented from under the hood of a Buick.  
  
"We're doing better than we were a week ago." Chance said. "Even with the two Enforcer cars we had to work on yesterday."  
  
"The ones that absolutely, positively, had to be done overnight." Jake added. "Let's hope that doesn't happen again anytime soon." The phone broke in on the conversation, and he groaned. "Please tell me that isn't going to be Feral."  
  
  
"This isn't going to be Feral." Chance said, striding towards the phone. He picked up. "Jake and Chance's garage."  
  
He listened intently for a while, then sighed. "Okay, bring them out." Hanging up the phone, he returned to the side of the Buick. "Good news."  
  
Jake sighed and kept his head under the hood. "Please tell me that wasn't Feral."  
  
"That wasn't Feral." Chance said, leaning against the car. "That was Rob O'Malley."  
  
"Oh." Jake looked up. O'Malley was in charge of the Enforcers Street Division, the branch of Enforcers who served as traffic officers and beat cops. "Do I want to know?"  
  
"Not really, but I'm going to tell you anyway."  
  
"Gee, thanks." Jake said sarcastically.  
  
"Three squad cars got involved in a traffic pileup on the expressway this morning. Two of 'em just need some body work, but the third one . . . ."  
  
"Let me guess." Jake said. "They're gonna send us the pieces in a dump truck and let us worry about figuring out what goes where."  
  
"Bingo." Chance groaned. "Back to square one."  
  
Jake straightened up and closed the hood. "Remind me why we took this job?"  
  
"Because we crashed a top-of-the-line aircraft and owe the government more money than either one of us has ever even seen ." Chance said.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Right."  
  
From outside came the sound of a well-tuned engine as something approached the scrapyard. Chance and Jake exchanged puzzled looks as they watched a black-and-silver road cycle with a single rider pull up.  
  
"You expecting company?"  
  
"No," Jake shook his head. "Are you?"  
  
"Nope." Chance headed for the open garage doors. "Guess we'd better see what's up."  
  
The bike's rider dismounted and pulled her helmet off as Jake followed Chance into the front yard.  
  
  
A pretty, slender she-kat with sand-colored fur stood by the bike, long black hair tousled from the helmet. Dark, penetrating green eyes examined the scrapyard, the battered garage, and the two kats before her. She twitched her tail and grinned tentatively.  
  
"Hi." Maggie said. "Are you Jake and Chance?"  
  
"Yeah." Chance said. "I'm Chance and this," he jerked his thumb at his partner, "Is Jake."  
  
"Hi." Jake grinned, stepping forward. "Nice bike. You need some work done on it?"  
  
Maggie recognized the lurking look of an inventor anxious to examine a new machine. "No, thanks. Any work on this baby is done by yours truly alone."  
  
"Oh." Jake said. He looked the bike over. "Is it custom?"  
  
"You bet." Maggie beamed. "Put her together myself."  
  
Jake bent down to look at the exposed parts of the bike's engine. "What kind of horsepower . . . ."  
  
"Sorry to interrupt," Chance cut him off before he became too involved in a discussion about engines. "But why are you here?"  
  
"Oh." Maggie set her helmet down on the seat and pulled a scrap of newspaper out of her pocket. "You guys still looking for a mechanic?"  
  
Chance exchanged a glance with Jake. "Are you looking for a job?"  
  
Maggie grinned and extended a paw to Chance, who shook it. "Maggie Blackclaw at your service. If katkind built it, I can fix it, and I'll work anywhere at any time for anyone."  
  
Before either of them could reply, two badly dented squad cars rolled up, followed -- as Jake had predicted -- by a dump truck full of parts.  
  
Chance and Jake glanced at the truck, then at Maggie, then at each other.  
  
"When can you start?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
Okay, there you go! R&R, please, and I'll have part three up soon! -- Skybright 


	3. Chapter Three

  
  
Sorry it's taken me so long to post this. I try to take it one day at a time, but lately several days have ganged up and attacked me at once! Part four is forthcoming — I promise!  
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"And the bedrooms are up here." Jake said, leading Maggie up the stairs. Chance was down in the garage, still arguing with the Enforcers about how long the repairs on the squad cars would take.   
  
At the top of the stairs a hallway led off in two different directions. Jake pointed left. "Chance's room is the first one on the left. Mine's right next door, and then there's a bathroom and a couple of old guest rooms we use for storage and stuff." He turned to the right. "Over here there's two more bedrooms and a full bathroom." He grinned. "The kat who built this place after MegaWar III had three daughters. I guess he didn't want to fight them for the bathroom every morning."  
  
"Smart kat." Maggie commented, looking around. The hallway was wide and well-lit, although the floor did creak in places. She watched as the wiry ginger-colored kat swung open the first door in the hallway.  
  
"Sorry about the dust." He said apologetically.   
Maggie shrugged as she surveyed the room. What looked like a dresser, nightstand, and twin bed were all covered with old sheets, thick with dust. Sunlight filtered into the room from the window by the dresser. An old lamp sat on the nightstand, the broken lampshade looking like an emaciated bat. A door in the wall to the right stood slightly ajar. "You weren't kidding when you said you never used these rooms."  
  
"This is the worst of it." Chance said from the doorway. "The bathroom and study are a lot better."  
  
Jake nodded, pulling the door that had been ajar open. "I used the study for a while, before I found a better room downstairs." Chance shot him a warning look, which he ignored. "And the bathroom's just a little grungy in the corners. Come on, I'll show you the study."  
  
Maggie and Chance followed him through the connecting door to a slightly larger room with a huge window, which provided an excellent view of the scrapyard and the city beyond. Light flooded in, revealing a pair of empty bookcases, a well-worn couch, and a drafting desk near the window. Chance grinned. "Well, what do you think? You want the job?"  
  
Maggie grinned back. "Sure." Then she turned more serious. "But there's things about me . . . well, the thing is," She sighed. "I have a real hard time staying in one place for very long. I've lived in about eight different cities in the past four years. I think I'm going to stick around for a while this time, but . . . I don't make any guarantees. Six months is all I can really promise you."  
  
Jake and Chance exchanged a wordless look. Then Jake shrugged. "Well, there's some things you should know about us, too. See, we have this . . . deal . . . with the Enforcers."  
  
"It's a long story," Chance said, "But the short version is that we run this place to pay back a jumbo debt we owe the Enforcers. Private cars, we keep the cash. . . ."  
  
"But Enforcer vehicles go towards paying the tab." Maggie guessed.  
  
"Right." Jake nodded. "We won't ask you to work for free — we'll handle the Enforcer cars ourselves. The thing is, sometimes business is really nuts. But sometimes it slacks off, and we'll have weeks with nothing to do except Enforcers tuneups."  
  
"I guess that's what you meant when the ad said 'unusual schedule.'" Maggie said. Jake and Chance nodded.  
  
"Well," She said, "If that happens I guess I'll just help you with the Enforcer work." She grinned. "So is there a kitchen in this place, or what?"  
  
  
  
"So, that's the tour."Chance said, opening the fridge. "You want a milk?"  
  
"Sure." Maggie accepted the can. "That's the whole place, huh?"  
  
"Well, most of it." Jake spoke up. "There are a few other rooms down that way," he waved his paw towards the living room — and the hangar. "But they're mostly just closets and stuff. There is a room where we keep old parts and tax records. That's right behind the living room. And further down that hallway . . ." He paused. "Well, there's an office and stuff. Some rooms that're kind of private."  
  
"Say no more." Maggie said, holding up one paw. "Curiosity killed the kat, after all. You don't want me there — I don't go there."  
  
Jake grinned at Chance, who grinned back. "So, you'll move in tomorrow?" Chance asked. "We could come get your stuff in the tow truck."  
  
"Don't bother." Maggie said. "Everything I own, I can fit onto Sirocco."  
  
"Sirocco?" Jake asked.  
  
Maggie smiled. "The bike. Right after I built it, my dad named it after a wind that blows in the Tabbiyan desert."  
  
"Tabbiya?" Chance asked. "My was dad stationed there during MidEastern Storm."  
  
"Really?" Maggie grinned. "We have something in common, then. Was he Air Troops or Ground?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Chance laughed. "He was practically born in a cockpit."  
  
Maggie grinned. "My dad was the same way. He used to say a life without flying was a life not worth living."  
  
"Sounds like I would have liked him." Chance said.  
  
"And it sounds like I'm gonna like it here."   
  
Maggie replied. She lifted the can of milk. "Here's to the beginning of a beautiful friendship!"  
  
Jake grinned. "I'll drink to that!"  
  
  
"I don't want you to move, Maggie." Eppie Schultz said, watching as Maggie loaded the last of her packs onto the bike. "Shyler will miss you."  
  
"I'm only going across town, Eppie." Maggie smiled.  
  
"But I'm littler that you. Across town is a long, long ways!" Eppie pouted.  
  
"I'll be coming to visit all the time." Maggie assured her.  
  
"And you'll take me and Shyler and Marcus for rides?" The kitten prompted. "And tell us stories about being on the road?"  
  
Maggie laughed and caught the kitten up in her arms, spinning her around. "Absolutely, little one!"  
  
"Maggie!" Eppie squealed in delight. "You're making Shyler dizzy! Maggie!!"  
  
"Better watch out, ketsele." Matthew said in amusement from the top of the stoop. "Those kittens will grow on you. You may decide not to leave."  
  
"Nice try, uncle." Maggie grinned breathlessly. She patted Eppie on the back as she brought the kitten back to earth. "Run on upstairs, kiddo, and help your Mama with that laundry."  
  
"Okay." Eppie stuck her chin in the air proudly. "I'm good at laundry. I can measure the soap all by myself!" Then she bounded up the steps and disappeared into the building.  
  
Maggie grinned as she watched her go. "Sweet kitten."  
  
"She adores you." Matthew smiled. "Her brother, too, though he'll never admit it. In only a week, you have become their hero."  
  
Maggie laughed softly. "Been a long time since I've been that."  
  
"No, ketsele." Matthew said, using the wheelchair lift to lower himself to the ground. "You have always been my hero." He smiled. "Come, now, give your old uncle a hug before you go."  
  
Maggie embraced him, only to feel a slim chain slipped around her neck. Pulling away, she glanced down at the medallion her uncle had placed on her. Then she shook her head and started to take it off. "Uncle Matt . . . ."  
  
He stopped her. "Keep it, Maggie. I am too old to need a good-luck charm."  
  
She shook her head again. "I gave it to you for a reason."  
  
"And it is for a reason that I am giving it back." He clasped her paw in his own. "It was given to me by someone very dear, someone I am very proud of. I am giving it to her because I hope, one day, she will be proud of herself again."  
  
Maggie looked down at the small gold emblem, one of six that she and her squadron had worn together — the only one that still existed. It was part of a past she wanted badly to forget . . . . but it was also a gift from the only kat who still believed in her. Nodding, she slipped the medallion under her shirt. "All right." She smiled at Matthew. "You win."  
  
He smiled back. "Blackclaws always win." He pulled her into another embrace. "Stay well, ketsele."  
  
"I will." She turned reluctantly away, pulling on her gloves and helmet. "I'll see you soon."  
  
"I'll know where to find you if I don't!" Matt replied, smiling. Then he turned more serious.  
  
"Fair winds find you, ketsele." He murmured as his niece and her bike pulled away. "I have a feeling that fate will make a hero of you yet — even if I'm not sure how."  
  
TBC  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four (original, non?)

Finally, finally, finally! And it only took me THREE MONTHS (A pox on Chemistry homework! A pox on English!)  
Y'all know the drill: I don't own 'em, I'm not making money, please read & review.  
Special thanxes go out to Rayene Entei and Jane Silver (your reviews got me off my tail and writing again!)  
********************************************************************************  
  
"I am I, Don Quixote, the looord of LaManxa . . . ." Jake's voice echoed from the kitchen downstairs. "My des-ti-ny calls and I gooo . . ."  
  
Maggie rolled her eyes and finished running a brush through her thick dark hair. "When I took this job," She muttered, "Nobody told me one of my housemates had a thing for musicals."  
The bright sunlight of an August morning shone through the window, illuminating the patchwork quilt and other homey touched Maggie had added in her two months of residence. It had been an interesting two months, to say the least.  
  
True to her prediction, Maggie really liked working at the garage. It had been too long since she'd let herself be friends with anyone. Jake and Chance were the best friends she had made since leaving the Enforcers nearly four years earlier.  
  
Of course, adjusting to her new surroundings hadn't all been sweetness and light. For one thing, Maggie had been living on her own for so long, she'd forgotten what it was like to have another kat around. Things like Chance's Scaredy-Kat addiction, Jake's fondness for musicals, and the habit they both had of leaving socks and empty milk cans on the floor, had taken a lot of getting used to. Not to mention the way they had of sometimes disappearing without a trace, only to reappear hours later, exhausted and grinning like they'd just won the Indykat-500. Or the glances that sometimes passed between the two of them, followed by an abrupt change in conversation. Or Jake's habit of bumping his feet in the middle of the night and making enough noise to raise the dead. Or . . . .  
  
Well, the list went on.  
  
Among the things that had puzzled Maggie at first was "the noise". The first time she had heard it, she'd been in the shower. Maggie had assumed that the dull, screaming roar she'd heard had something to do with the hot water pipes — plumbing wasn't her strong point — until she had heard it again, two weeks later. She'd been in the study that time, and had glanced out the window just in time to spot what looked like a Wraith-class jet fighter soar between her and the morning sun. That had prompted her to ask Jake later that afternoon.  
  
"Oh, that." He had explained, sticking his head out from under a Katillac. "The, uh, Enforcers run a lot of test flights out in the Megakat desert. That's probably what you heard. It happens a lot."  
  
After a while "the noise" had joined Scaredy-Kat and "The Kat of LaManxa" as one of those things she just accepted about life at the scrapyard.  
  
Th Swat Kats had made a few appearances since her arrival — breaking up a catnip ring, taking out a big-league mobster, and knocking out a pair of crooks called the Metallikats — who, Maggie learned from a visit to the library, were experimental robots containing the personalities of Max and Molly Mange.  
  
That was one of Maggie's small hobbies — visiting the library to piece together information about the vigilantes. Since, as her uncle had told her sagely, "Everyone in MKC has a theory about who they are," Maggie couldn't see any reason that she shouldn't form a theory of her own.  
  
Before she could begin to think about that, though, Jake thumped a few times on the kitchen ceiling — Maggie's floor — with the handle of a broom (his own patented method of getting her attention).  
  
"Hey, Maggie!" He shouted through the floor. "If you want any breakfast, you'd better get down here — you know how Chance is about omelettes!" That said, he launched into a chorus from "South Pacific."  
  
"There ain't nothing like a dame . . . ."  
  
Maggie grinned in surrender as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. "Some days, I'd really like to get my hands on Rodgers and Hammerkat."  
  
******************  
  
"So," Maggie asked as she finished washing the last of an omelette off of her plate, "What's on the agenda for today?"  
  
"Well," Chance said, leaning back, "I've gotta go scouting for a part for that old Katswagen — the only place in town that sells 'em charges an arm and a tail. You wanna lend a paw?"  
  
"Sure." Maggie agreed, drying her paws on a dishtowel. "Let's go scrap hunting."  
  
  
  
Maggie straightened up, brushing rust and dirt off of her paws. "Nothing over here."  
  
"Or here." Chance answered, emerging from behind a pile of rotting parts. "Guess we'll keep looking."  
  
"Yeah . . ." Maggie's voice trailed off as something caught her eye. "Hey, look at this!" She pounced on a square silver part about the size of a grapefruit and held it up, grinning.  
  
"What is it?" Chance asked, taking it from her to examine it.  
  
"It's an Engine Management Processor from a Talon-class jet fighter. Takes all the commands that the pilot feeds the propulsion systems, organizes them according to priority, and sends them to the engines. It also monitors engine status and divides the workload according to how much each engine can take."   
  
"Whoa." Chance said, handing the part back to her. "You sure?"  
  
"I should be," Maggie replied. "I designed the thing." She held it up again. "This is probably worth a lot of money . . . hey!" She bent to retrieve another part. "This is part of the ejection system from a Talon. And that over there looks like a part of the weapons board!" She held up the two parts. "This is high-level classified stuff, Chance — or it was, four years ago."  
  
"Well, this *is* a military scrapyard." Chance noted. "You should see some of the weird stuff Jake and I have found."  
  
"I'll bet." Maggie turned in a slow circle, looking around. "There's a lot of parts from Talon-class fighters lying around here. They must have dumped the prototypes here after the first squadron went down." Her eyes lit up. "I'll bet you we could build an entire plane out of this stuff!"  
  
Chance laughed. "Are you kidding? Build a jet fighter out of spare parts?"  
  
Maggie grinned. "I guess you're right. It is kind of farfetched." She dropped the parts. "Come on, let's find that part for the Katswagen."  
  
But an idea had started forming in her mind . . . .  
  
******************  
  
Maggie sat at the drafting desk in the study, staring absently at the sheets of blueprint paper spread out before her. It had been a long time since she'd thought about *the planes* as anything more than the event that ruined her career, but still . . . .  
  
Grabbing a pencil, she began to tentatively trace the outline of a Talon-class fighter. Her photographic memory slowly began to kick in, revealing the schematics for a missile here, an exhaust outtake there . . . and the more she drew the more she remembered. On to the engine, now . . . . As she drew, Maggie began to remember, not just the schematics, but the days after the Desert War had ended.  
  
****  
"Major Margaret Blackclaw?" The Enforcer MP was tall, black, and surly, towering over Maggie's desk. She looked up at him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You are under arrest by order of the Enforcers General Court."  
  
Maggie, astonished, glanced from the MP to the Sergeant she had been talking to, and back to the MP again. "On what charge?"  
  
"The charges are Espionage, Sabotage, and Criminal Negligence. And I'd suggest," He growled, "That you come along peacefully."  
  
****  
"Order!" The presiding officer brought his gavel down with a crack. "This Court Martial is now in session. Margaret Blackclaw, you are charged with Espionage, Sabotage, Incorrect Design Procedure, and Criminal Negligence resulting in the untimely deaths of five Enforcers. How do you plead?"  
  
"Innocent, sir."  
  
The courtroom erupted into murmurs. A reporter's flashbulb went off, and the presiding officer brought the gavel down again. "Order! Get that camera out of here!"  
  
Maggie closed her eyes. It was going to be a long month.  
  
****  
  
Actually, it had been the longest month of her life. The Enforcers had finally found a way to pass the blame for Hurricane Squadron's destruction — by charging that it was the engines, not the weapons, that had failed in the critical moment. Most of their "evidence" for those claims was pure malarkey, but they were determined to make it stick. And the arrogant, self- righteous attitude of the prosecutor — A Colonel Feral — hadn't made the ordeal any easier.  
  
"Margaret Blackclaw, step forward please." The presiding officer stood. "Major Blackclaw, after secret and unanimous ballot, this panel finds you . . . ." He held up a sheet of paper.   
  
"Of the charge of Espionage: not guilty.   
  
"Of the charge of Sabotage: not guilty.  
  
"Of the charge of Incorrect Design Procedure: not guilty.  
  
"And, Major Blackclaw, for not insisting that all elements of the Talon-class fighters be thoroughly tested before allowing your squadron to fly them in battle — of the charge of Criminal Negligence, this General Court Martial finds the accused, Margaret Blackclaw:  
  
"Guilty, on all counts."  
  
The courtroom once again exploded, and yet another flashbulb went off.  
  
"Order! Sentencing to commence as follows; that the accused be stripped of her rank and dishonorably discharged from the ranks of the Megakat Enforcers. Sentence to be carried out as soon as possible."  
  
****  
  
*And carried out it was,* Maggie thought, putting the finishing touches on the engine designs. *All for following my orders.* She turned to a new sheet of blueprint paper and started in on the cockpit.  
  
Midnight saw Maggie putting the last few touches on the blueprints. Satisfied, she leaned back to regard what she had done.  
  
"Well, what on earth am I ever going to do with this?" She rolled up the sheets of paper and fastened them with a rubber band. "Other than building a plane in my spare time? Doubt I'd have much use for it." She grinned. "Chalk it up to my overactive engineer's mind."  
  
Glancing at the clock on the bookshelf, Maggie shook her head. "I'm never going to get to sleep when I'm this worked up." She stood, stretching. "Maybe some warm milk will help."  
  
****  
Maggie crept downstairs, carefully avoiding the groaning board in the second step. One foot on that would be more than enough to wake up Chance, who was a light sleeper.  
  
She paused when she saw light streaming from the kitchen, then shook her head in gentle exasperation. "No wonder our electric bill is so high. This is what you get when you put two bachelor kats in the same house." However, as she drew closer, she could catch the sound of voices. Puzzled — what were Jake and Chance doing up this late? — she crept up next to the door and listened in.  
  
"I'm telling you, Jake, Maggie's about *this* far from figuring it out."  
  
"Aw, Chance. It's been two months. Why don't you relax?"  
  
"You didn't hear her out there today. She wasn't just kidding about building a plane — she *meant* it, I could tell. And the way she knew what all those parts were for . . . ." The clock in the hall chimed 12:30, wiping out a fragment of the conversation.  
  
" . . . Enforcer?" Jake sounded incredulous. "Chance, do you really believe that?"  
  
"Well, how do we know she *isn't* working for Feral?" Chance's voice challenged. "You know what'll happen if he figures it out."  
  
Maggie's eyebrows arched. Her? Working for *Feral*? About as likely as Manx growing a backbone.  
  
She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and pushed the door open.  
  
Jake and Chance stopped in mid-sentence, watching her uncertainly. Maggie grinned, trying to lighten the awkward moment. "You two look like the kittens who got caught with the canary."  
  
Jake laughed. "Well, you *did* interrupt our top-secret plans for world domination."  
  
"As long as it's nothing major." Maggie reached into the fridge and pulled out a can of milk. She could feel the glances passing between her roommates as she went through the motions of warming up the drink. Finally, she turned, a steaming mug in hand. "I have a confession to make." She took a seat at the kitchen table, opposite Chance and Jake. "I'm not just a mechanic."  
  
"You're a secret agent." Jake quipped.  
  
"Not quite." Maggie glanced between the two kats. "Do either of you remember when Hurricane squadron crashed, near the end of the Desert War?"  
  
"Vaguely." Jake said, wrinkling his brow. "It's kind of blurry."  
  
"I remember." Chance said. "Scott Lewis was a friend of my older brother."  
  
"You remember later that year, in May? The trial?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Jake rolled his eyes. "I had finals to study for. I was in total media isolation."  
  
"I wasn't." Chance said. "Feral and the General Court tried to pin the whole thing on the squadron leader . . ." Something seemed to click. "Wait a minute! That was you!"  
  
"That was me." Maggie agreed, taking a drink of her milk.  
  
"Whoa." Jake interrupted. "Can we back up?"  
  
Maggie laughed softly, and then began to relate the events that had taken her from leading Hurricane Squadron to seeking work as a mechanic. The milk was cold by the time she'd finished.  
  
"Guess we're not the only Enforcers to get a raw deal." Chance growled.  
  
"No kidding. "Jake shot a significant look at Chance, who nodded and cleared his throat.   
  
"Look, Maggie . . ." He began. "Jake and I have a confession to make, too."  
  
Maggie leaned back in her chair and took a calm drink of milk.  
  
"Does this have anything to do with you guys being the Swat Kats?"   
  
  
  
Dunh-dunh- DAA (dramatic swell of music). Fade to black . . .  
  
Voice-over:  
  
Swat Kats is brought to you by . . .  
  
Kat Mandu Iced Tea  
  
When you need the refreshment of the Himalayas, reach for Kat Mandu!  
  
Swat Kats will return after these messages. 


	5. Chapter Five

  
Wow! Little did I know that stopping at a dramatic spot would get all y'all so riled up! (I am now officially a fiend and an infidel — just check out my review page if ya don't believe me!) I figured I'd better post again quick before someone started throwing things.  
  
Anywho, you're not here to listen to me jabber. So I'll shut up now. Okay? :-)  
  
Wait! One last thing, THEN I'll shut up: Please **review**. Thanxes! — Skybright  
********************************************************************************  
  
  
  
Jake and Chance's eyes both widened, and they spoke simultaneously. "You KNOW?"  
  
Maggie grinned smugly. "Come on, guys. I'm not *that* dense."  
  
"How . . .?" Jake's eyebrows shot up. "What tipped you off?"  
  
Maggie placed the mug on the table and began ticking off reasons on her fingers. "For starters, I *know* what a jet taking off sounds like. Then there's that weird way you guys have of stopping conversations in the middle — usually conversations having to do with the Enforcers or the Swat Kats. Add to that the fact that I've *never* been able to find either of you when the Swat Kats are making an appearance. And the 'forbidden hallway' which, I'm betting, contains the entrance to your hangar. You've got enough Enforcers scrap lying around outside to build *three* planes, and to top it all off . . ." She laughed. "Guys, eye masks do not constitute an impenetrable disguise."  
  
"Hey!" Chance said defensively. "Feral's never figured it out!"  
  
"Feral doesn't spend sixteen hours a day staring at your furry mugs." Maggie replied, grinning.  
  
"Good point." Jake agreed. "So, how long have you known?"  
  
"I've been suspicious about it for three or four weeks now — ever since you . . . well, ever since Razor and T-Bone broke up that katnip ring, and I noticed that you two resembled them. Finding all that scrap from the Talons is what clinched it." Her tail twitched."So."  
  
"So." Chance echoed. "Now what?"  
  
"I'll leave it up to you guys." Maggie said. "If it makes you nervous having me around, and you want me to leave, I'll bow out gracefully and leave town." She laughed. "Nobody will ever believe me if I say that the Swat Kats are really mechanics."  
  
"What if you stay?" Jake asked.  
  
Maggie shrugged. "I dunno. I guess we can just go on. I can keep on living upstairs, not say anything when you guys go out. It can't hurt to have someone else around — in case one of you gets hurt or something."  
  
Chance nodded. "Sounds like a plan." Jake agreed.  
  
"Good." Maggie smiled slyly. "So do I get to see her?"  
  
****  
  
"Wow." Maggie ran a paw along the sleek black side of the TurboKat. Then she turned to her housemates, grinning. "Chance, Jake, this is one fine lady you have here."  
  
"Thanks." Jake grinned. "Wait 'til you see her teeth." He plopped down at a computer console and started calling up weapons schematics.  
  
Maggie leaned over, exited. "Octopus missiles . . . buzzsaws . . . titanium nets. . . Jake, you designed all these?"  
  
"Designed and built 'em." He grinned. "And you thought my specialty was replacing transmissions."  
  
She laughed and glanced over her shoulder at Chance. "You're the pilot?" He nodded. "So tell me — she's got the looks, she's got the teeth — but does she have the legs?"  
  
Grinning, Chance replaced Jake at the console and started showing Maggie the engines.  
  
Maggie whistled in amazement. "Ho-ly kats."  
  
"Faster than anything the Enforcers have." Chance said proudly. "You should see this baby run."  
  
"I'll bet." Maggie turned, examining the hangar. "You guys have put a lot of work into this place."  
  
"Yea, and it's not very often we get bragging rights on it, either." Chance stood up. "Come on. We'll show you the rest of it."  
  
"Great!' Maggie smiled. "Okay, guys, one thing I'm curious about; where on earth did you find flight suits?"  
  
"Well," Jake explained, "We've got this friend in San Franciskat . . ."  
  
"He's an Enforcers surplus dealer." Chance added.  
  
"And he owed me this favor . . . ."  
  
******  
  
It was three in the morning before Maggie finally half-fell into bed, exhausted and amazed at the same time. Her mind whirled with thoughts of heroes, jets, and villains.  
  
It seemed she had barely fallen asleep, however, before she was awakened by someone pounding vigorously on the door to her room. She rolled out of bed, confused and still half- asleep. "Hello . . .?"  
  
The door swung open to reveal a thin, night-black kat. Out of bed! He shouted impatiently in Canine. Hurry up, you MegaKat spy!  
  
"Spy?" Maggie looked around, bewildered."What . . .?" Peering across the room, she could just make out the markings of a CIA uniform. "Wait a minute! We're not in Canis . . . ."  
  
The kat hissed a Canine curse. Not just a spy, but crazy too! You'll be better off dead. Ignoring Maggie's vigorous protests, he grabbed her arm in a grip like iron and dragged her away.  
  
***  
The cold wind whipped across the scrapyard. Maggie, stunned into inaction, let the guard drag her in front of the line of Canine soldiers. *What's going on?* Maggie thought, bewildered. *What are they here for?*  
  
Cold dread filled her as she suddenly realized the answer . . .  
  
*A firing squad.*  
  
"Wait!" She shouted, holding her paws out. "Hold on! I'm not a spy! I swear, I'm not a spy!"  
  
"Well, of course you're not."  
  
*That voice . . . .* Maggie turned to look at the kat who had spoken. That cold, lifeless voice perfectly matched the dead-white fur and electric blue eyes she had known she'd see. That voice could belong to no other kat. It could only be . . .  
  
"MacClawed."  
  
He smirked and turned to the firing squad. "Ready . . ."  
  
"It was you all along."  
  
"Aim . . ."  
  
"No, wait!"  
  
"Fire!"  
  
***  
  
"MACCLAWED!"  
  
Maggie sat bolt upright in bed, shivering with cold sweat. The room was warm and silent, silver-blue moonlight giving everything a luminous glow. There was no dark cell, no Canine firing squad.  
  
No MacClawed.  
  
Throwing back the blankets, Maggie took a deep breath and stood up. As safe as the room looked, the nightmare still lingered like a scent in the air. She headed for the study.  
***  
  
Maggie sank onto the couch in the study, head in paws. *The nightmares are back.* She had secretly hoped that sharing the story of the Hurricanes with Jake and Chance would banish them . . . .  
  
"Hey."  
  
Maggie looked up, startled. Chance was leaning in the doorway, concern written in his features.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Did I wake you up?"  
  
Chance shrugged. "No big deal." He made his way to the drafting desk and sat down. "You look terrible."  
  
Maggie snorted. "Thanks."  
  
Chance was quiet for a moment, watching her. "You wanna talk about it?"  
  
She shrugged. "It's just . . . bad dreams. They come and go. No big deal."  
  
"Who's MacClawed?"  
  
Maggie winced. "You heard that, huh?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She sighed. "James MacClawed is — was — the head weapons designer for the Talon project — and the only kat on the project who would have known that the weapons weren't ready yet. *I* think he was working for the Canines, but nobody's ever been able to prove it." Maggie held her paws out, protesting against Chance's worried expression. "Look, Chance, it's just nightmares. Don't worry about it."  
  
Chance shook his head. "It's my job to worry. Honestly, between you and Jake . . ." He rolled his eyes. "You'd think the two of you *like* being sleep deprived."  
  
"I'm not the one wandering down the hallway to check on me at four A.M., am I?" Maggie grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "I thought Swat Kats needed their sleep."  
  
He smiled grudgingly back. "So do you." He glanced at the rolled-up blueprints. "What are those?"  
  
"Nothing special." Picking up the roll of papers, she slid off the rubber band and unrolled the plans.  
  
"Whoa." Chance raised his eyebrows. "You really do know how to build a Talon."  
  
"Like falling off a bicycle." Maggie grinned. "You never forget."  
  
"I thought that was *riding* a bicycle."  
  
"You didn't see me learn, obviously."  
  
Chance grinned. "I see." He leafed through the blueprints. "Man, this is a beautiful bird."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Chance examined the engine blueprints, running his finger down the list of parts. "You know, we really *could* build this thing with the stuff we've got out in the yard."  
  
"Whoa, muchacho!" She held her paws up. "Let's just kill that thought right now, okay? It's not gonna happen."  
  
"Why not?" Chance challenged. "You said it yourself — a life without flying isn't worth living."  
  
Maggie leaned back, sighing. "Chance, in case you hadn't noticed . . . the last time I got into a Talon it got blown out from underneath me — and I was the lucky one."  
  
"But that's the point!" He jabbed his finger at the plans. "You know exactly what went wrong! You could rebuild a Talon that didn't have any of the flaws from the original. You could improve it, make it better . . . ."  
  
"What is this, The Six Million Dollar Kat?" Maggie rolled her eyes. "Okay, so what would I *do* with this Talon, once I got it built?"  
  
Chance stared at her. "What do you *think* you'd do with it? The same thing me and Jake did with the TurboKat!"   
  
"Ah. Let me think about that." Maggie tilted her head. "No."  
  
"Ah, for cryin' out . . . why not?!"  
  
"Because." Maggie shook her head. "Jake and Chance. Razor and T-Bone. Heck, even the sign outside says 'Jake and Chance's Garage!'" She stood up. "A partnership like you guys have is a self-contained thing. You don't need a third wheel — or a third Swat Kat — hanging around."  
  
"What if we want one?" Jake's voice interrupted. Maggie turned to find him standing in the doorway.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Jake took a seat on the couch and shrugged. "Look, the garage isn't the only place where we could use some help once in a while."  
  
"No kidding." Chance agreed. "With Feral running things, the Enforcers are about as useful as a flat spare tire."  
  
"When the Pastmaster or the Metallikats show up, we're pretty much the only hope that the city has." Jake continued. "And that can get nerve-wracking, let me tell you."  
  
"So what you're saying," Maggie raised an eyebrow, "Is you don't just want me helping as a mechanic — you want me helping as a Swat Kat?"  
  
"Hey, if you're as good a pilot as you are a mechanic . . ." Chance grinned.  
  
Maggie had to laugh. "I might have been, once. But it's been years since I've been in the air."  
  
"No problem!" Jake grinned. "You had the tour — we've got all sorts of training equipment downstairs."  
  
Maggie looked from one housemate to another. "You're serious."  
  
"Absolutely!" They both answered.  
  
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "With faces like those — how do I resist?" She took the plans from Chance and spread them out on the desk. "Okay. The first thing we'll need to find is this . . . ."  
********************************************************************************  
TBC  
********************************************************************************  
  
Okay, folkses — I need your help!!!!!  
I had originally planned on Maggie's code name being Talon — after the planes, get it? (Well, *I* thought it was clever). However, during a visit to the SWAT Kats Archive I discovered that somebody else already had dibs on that name. And now I have writer's block! (Woe is me!) Anybody have a good idea for Maggie's code name, and/or the name of her jet? Send it to me at   
  
skybright_daye@hotmail.com  
  
Profuse thanxes go out in advance for any ideas and I promise if I use one you'll get credited for it. Remember -- only you can prevent writer's block! :-)  
  
Skybright  
  



	6. November (I finally thought of a chapter...

  
  
Thanx so much to everyone who offered encouragement/ideas for Maggie's codename. Full credits will appear in the next chapter.  
Thanx also to all ya'll who have been so diligent about reviewing. Keep it up — I thrive on feedback! — Skybright  
  
********************************************************************************  
  
"YEEEEEAAAAHHH!!" Maggie Blackclaw couldn't resist a whoop of pure joy as her jet shot out of the hangar and into the bright sky above the Megakat Desert. "Now THIS is flying!"   
  
Pulling back on the stick so fast that acceleration shoved her back into her seat, Maggie guided the jet into a series of rolls, banks, and turns that left her grinning. Only three months into its life, and the jet was already performing like a veteran.  
  
"Having fun?" Jake's slightly amused voice broke into Maggie's private airshow.  
  
"Do you have to ask?" Although she didn't turn to look, Maggie knew she would find the TurboKat soaring protectively at eight o'clock high. "This is more fun than a video game tournament — and I won, by the way."  
  
"Only because I let you."  
  
"That's what they all say." Maggie grinned. "Where's Chance? He's never this quiet."  
  
"Back in the hangar. And it's 'T-Bone' and 'Razor' when we're in the air, remember?"  
  
"You got it." She raised her eyebrows. "So you're driving? Should I be scared?"  
  
"Ha, ha. I died laughing." Razor retorted dryly. "C'mon. Let's get down to business."  
  
"As you wish, oh sharp-aimed one." Leaning forward, Maggie switched the weapons display to active mode. "Come on, kitten. Let's show him what we're made of."  
  
"Releasing target drones . . . now." Razor informed her.  
  
"Bring it on."  
  
A quartet of flying drones streaked into view, each shooting in a different direction. Maggie's eyes flicked from weapons display to drones and back again.   
  
"Y'know, I'll bet these things are what the UFO fanatics are really seeing." She remarked casually. "You ever let them out to play?" Razor merely snorted in reply.   
  
"Guess that's a no." Maggie eyed the information scrolling across her defense analysis screen. "Okay, let's try . . . ." She grinned. "Robin Hood missile — away." A missile that resembled a closely-packed bundle of arrows shot towards the drones.  
  
As a matter of fact it *was* a closely-packed bundle of arrows — jet-propelled ones that soon broke away from each other and shot towards the targets. One by one the modified "arrows" speared the fleeing drones.  
  
"I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth, and I know exactly where." Maggie announced smugly. "C'mon, Razor, I've had a harder time playing 'Duck Hunt'."  
  
"Misquoting Longfellow will cost you points on the final exam." He informed her. "And don't worry — it gets harder."  
  
"Suuure." She flexed her claws. "Nothing my kitten can't handle."  
  
"We'll see. Level two drones — away!"  
  
This time there were six drones, larger and faster than the previous ones. It took several more minutes and a great deal more maneuvering before they went down.   
  
"Okay, not bad." Maggie admitted. "But I'm still winning."  
  
"Not for long. Launching level three drone."  
  
"What, did you use up all the snappy names on the missiles?" Her fingers flew over the weapons controls. "Or did you figure it wasn't worth the trouble naming something I was gonna blow out of the sky?"  
  
"Are you sure about that last one?"  
  
Maggie's jaw dropped as the cement missile she had launched hit the drone dead-on — and bounced harmlessly off of its hull. She glanced at the defense analysis screen. "Triamonite armor plating? Where'd you get the cash for something like that?"  
  
"We took it out of your paycheck." Razor deadpanned. "Now what?"  
  
"I'm thinking." Maggie gnawed on her lower lip as she swung the jet into an arc outside of the drone's range. "Triamonite . . . what will cut through triamonite?"   
  
"Bet you wish you'd payed better attention in chemistry class, huh?"  
  
"Ugh. Third period. Mr. Midvale." Maggie shuddered. "*Don't* remind me. I practically needed therapy after a year in *that* class." She absentmindedly scrolled through her weapons array, then grinned. "All right, so it took me a minute to think. The only thing that'll cut through triamonite is a duenimite-titanium alloy . . . ."  
  
"Such as that used in our buzzsaw missiles." Razor finished. "A-plus."  
  
"Gee, thanks. Launching buzzsaw missiles now."  
  
As Maggie thumbed the trigger, a sickening, tearing whine reverberated throughout the cockpit. "What the . . .?" A row of warning lights began glowing Christmas-tree red and an alarm buzzer started sounding as the jet suddenly began to lose altitude.  
  
"Ah, CRUD!"  
  
"What's happening?" Razor demanded. "Talk to me."  
  
Maggie's paws became a blur as she toggled switches and punched buttons. "Buzzsaws deployed too early! Tore a trench down the middle of my bird — *not* a good thing!"  
  
"What's your damage?"  
  
"You name it, I got it! Hydraulics are gone, landing gear's toast, fuel lines're fouled up — I'm losing juice quicker than Manx's losing his hair!" She glanced worriedly at her altimeter. "And I'm dropping like a rock."  
  
"You got enough fuel left for a VTOL setdown?"  
  
"Ah . . ." Maggie scanned the displays. "Negative. I'd be lucky to start a campfire with the fuel I've got left." Another glance at the altimeter. "Still dropping."  
  
"Jump and dump!" Razor demanded, using the Enforcer term for an emergency ejection.  
  
"Well, funny thing about that." She said, swatting at one of the multiple warning lights. "One of those saws toasted the ejection seat. Looks like I'm going down with the bird." Maggie glanced up at the rapidly receding black speck above. "And the worst part of it is . . . I missed the stupid drone."  
  
Maggie kept her eyes focused on the sky as the altimeter ran down to zero . . . .  
  
And the screens representing the "sky" went from white-on-blue to blank gray. Sighing, she waited until she heard the hiss-click of the canopy locks opening. Then she pushed the canopy up and stepped out of the "cockpit" — really a flight simulator — and onto the floor of the hangar.  
  
"Well, *that* could have gone better."  
  
"No kidding." Jake agreed from his position at a nearby computer console. Pulling off his v.r. helmet, he ran a paw through his tousled headfur. "I knew we should've put the buzzsaws closer to the front of the arsenal."  
  
"Design problems?" Chance asked around a mouthful of tuna sandwich. He was at another console on the other side of the hangar, eating lunch and using the console's monitor for a purpose it hadn't exactly been designed for — watching reruns of "Scaredy Kat".  
  
"Not so much design as deployment problems." Maggie answered, leaning against the console where Jake was sitting. "Have the buzzsaws ever done that to you guys?"  
  
"If they did, would we be sitting here?" Chance asked. Maggie rolled her eyes.  
  
"Lemme see . . ." Jake leaned forward, calling up the programming protocols for the flight simulator. "Buzzsaw missile . . ." He punched in a string of computer commands. "Let's look at the code version for the simulator arsenal . . . ." He continued typing, scrolling through a long list of complicated computer language.  
  
"Well, look on the bright side." Maggie said. "At least I wasn't in a *real* plane."   
  
She glanced over her shoulder at the simulator. For three months now, they had spent much of their free time programming the designs for the Talon into the simulator's computer, running test "flights" and making various modifications. They'd also pulled together most of the scrap necessary to actually build the Talon; with much of the testing out of the way, the jet should be in the air after only about a month of construction.  
  
*Assuming we can get all the bugs worked out of it.* Maggie thought wryly.  
  
"Bingo!" Jake exclaimed. "This whole line of code got fouled up." He tapped the screen. "It's supposed to represent the safety mechanism that *keeps* the buzzsaw from deploying inside the plane — but the way it's typed, it *told* the missile to deploy!"  
  
"Great." Maggie commented dryly as Jake corrected the code. "I'm dead because of a typo."  
  
"Don't feel bad." Chance said, never looking away from the animated program. "My dad had a buddy during MidEastern Storm who had the same thing happen. Some idiot at Enforcers HQ over there accidentally marked his papers with 'deceased'. They sent his wife a telegram and everything." He took a giant bite of tuna and continued speaking. "Looked kinda funny when he tried to collect his paycheck . . . and he found out he wasn't gettin' paid because he was dead."  
  
"At least he got out of the war." Jake quipped.  
  
"Yeah, but imagine how his poor wife must have felt." Maggie added. "Hi, honey, I'm home! Oh, and by the way, I'm not dead!"  
  
Chance laughed — whether at her or at Scaredy-Kat, she wasn't sure — and Jake grinned.  
  
"Okay, the code's all fixed now. You wanna give it another go?"  
  
"Why not?" Maggie grinned as she headed for the simulator. "And this time, that drone is going *down*!"  
  
At that moment, however, the relative quiet of the hangar was broken by the persistent screeching of the alarm. Chance and Jake both leapt to their feet. As Jake bolted for the lockers, Chance hit the button on the alarm's intercom. "Yes, Miss Briggs?"  
  
"T-Bone! There's some sort of robot *thing* heading towards the city from the desert!"  
  
Chance — *No, it's T-Bone now.* Maggie corrected herself — glanced over his shoulder at Jake, who was already scrambling into his flight suit.  
  
"Have you checked with Professor Hackle?"   
  
"Feral just called him. It doesn't belong to him *or* Pumadyne, and every weapon the Enforcers have thrown at it so far has just bounced off!" The deputy mayor's voice held a note of panic. "We could sure use you guys."  
  
"Roger that, Miss Briggs. We're on our way." T-Bone closed the intercom channel and rushed to get into his own flight suit.  
  
Razor had already called up the dimensional radar by the time T-Bone joined him in the TurboKat. "Got it on screen, buddy. It's heading in from the West-Northwest about five miles out."  
  
"And whatever it is," T-Bone growled, "It's *big*." He twisted around to address Maggie, shouting over the noise as the engines powered up. "Mind the store."  
  
"You got it, boss." She flashed them both a thumbs-up. "Watch your tails."  
  
"Watch yours." Razor responded as the hydraulic lift in the floor kicked in and the jet began to rise.  
  
Maggie felt as much as heard it when the TurboKat's engines roared to full life on the level above her, catapulting the pair of vigilantes into the sky above the desert. Then, after a moment, the thunderous screaming roar recede into the distance — leaving nothing but the sound of the still-playing cartoons.  
  
Shaking her head and smiling, she walked over to Chance's monitor and switched it off. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the bulletin board near the flight simulator, covered in schematics for the Talon.  
  
"Don't worry, ketsele. It'll be your turn soon."  
******  
  
"I don't get it." Razor wrinkled his forehead in confusion at the information scrolling across his defense screens. "It's not *doing* anything."  
  
"It's heading for the city." His partner pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but it hasn't changed course, fired a weapon . . . nothing. It's acting like it's out for a walk."  
  
"Or a test drive." T-Bone studied the metallic object below them. Streamlined and apparently heavily shielded, its shape resembled one of the sand lizards that inhabited the Megakat Desert.  
  
Only this lizard was two and a half stories high and headed for *his* city.  
  
"Hold on." Razor said. "Something's happening . . . ."  
  
T-Bone could see it, too. The robot lizard's "mouth" had swung open with amazing swiftness as it turned its head towards a mesa. "Is it doin' what I think it's . . . ?"  
  
A brilliant flash of white light interrupted him, as the mesa was reduced to rubble.  
  
"Holy kats!" Razor hissed, paws flying across the instruments. "T-Bone, the amount of energy that thing just let off . . . ."  
  
"Was enough to take out a city block." T-Bone growled. "Or two. Or three."  
  
"Bingo." Razor studied the defense screens once again. "It's turning . . ." His eyebrows shot up beneath his mask. "It's doing an . . . about-face?"  
  
"Heading back the way it came." T-Bone swung the jet around to follow. "I say we take it out now, before it starts aiming at buildings instead of boulders."  
  
"Roger that." Razor began arming an assortment of weapons. "Let's . . . whoa!"  
  
Turning its head towards the TurboKat, the creature broke into a trot. Then it leapt into the air. As it did so, its "tail" folded away to reveal a jet engine. Drawing its legs close to its body, the lizard-jet gained altitude and put on a burst of sudden speed.  
  
"No *way*." T-Bone hissed in disbelief. "No. Way."  
  
"Believe it, buddy." His partner's paws were a blur of motion. "Not quite sure how it's staying airborne with no wings, but it *is* — and it's putting on speed."  
  
"Then so will we." T-Bone thumbed the accelerator, and the TurboKat responded with a burst of pure speed.  
  
"Got it on dimensional radar." Razor announced. "It's heading straight back the way it came . . . towards . . . ah, crud."  
  
"What?"  
  
"If it stays on this heading it's going to cross the Canine border in about five minutes."  
  
"And we'll follow it." T-Bone responded.  
  
"Are you nuts?" Razor demanded. "We may have ambassadors and an extradition treaty, but the Canines aren't exactly our bosom buddies. We violate their airspace and it could start another war — not to mention we'll most likely get our tails fried." His voice softened. "We've gotta back off on this one, buddy."  
  
T-Bone hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Roger that." He pulled the TurboKat into a wide turn. "Let's go home."  
  
******  
  
"Ummm . . . ." Maggie gnawed thoughtfully on a hangclaw. "G-7."  
  
Chance grinned triumphantly. "Miss."  
  
"Crud." She lashed her tail against the floor in annoyance. "Where did you *put* these things?"  
  
"Wouldn't you like to know. C-9."   
  
"Hit." Maggie grimaced.  
  
"I'll bet he's got them all in a straight line." Jake offered from his position in the living room's single armchair.  
  
"No helping, pal." Chance warned.  
  
"As if it matters. I'm losing pitifully." Maggie sat cross-legged on the floor facing the couch, with "Battleship" set up on the coffee table between herself and Chance. "D-5." Behind her, the cop show on the TV provided quiet background noise, punctuated by the occasional gunshot or siren.  
  
"Miss. C-8."  
  
"Ugh. There went my battleship." Maggie rolled her eyes. "Is it too late to forfeit?"  
  
"Yes. I . . . oh, hang on a sec." He scrambled for the remote and turned the volume up.  
  
"That's next week on M.K.E.D. Grey-and-Beige. Up next, Kat's Eye News at five with anchorkat Tom Broclaw and your roving reporter, Ann Gora."   
  
Maggie glanced over her shoulder as the screen lit up with the Kat's Eye News logo, then faded into the familiar face of Tom Broclaw.  
  
"Good evening. This is Kat's Eye News for Saturday, November ninth. Our top story tonight — danger in the desert. Who or what was responsible for the sudden appearance of this robotic creature earlier today?" A picture appeared onscreen. "Is this the forerunner of a possible Canine attack? And did the Swat Kats prevent what could have been a disaster? With more on that story, here's Ann Gora."  
  
"Cool." Chance commented as he hit mute. "Front-page coverage."  
  
"Not bad. J-3."  
  
"Miss. But you're getting warmer."  
  
"Yee-haw." Maggie turned to Jake. "So you think the Canines sent that thing?"  
  
"I dunno." He answered, lowering his magazine. "But it was top-of-the-line, whoever it belonged to. And the Canines didn't seem to mind when it entered their airspace."  
  
"We're gonna have to keep an eye out." Chance noted. "We *don't* want that thing running loose in downtown MKC." He glanced down at the game. "G-9. That's your destroyer." He grinned smugly. "I win."  
  
"No kidding." Maggie started pulling pegs out of the board. "How 'bout best three out of five?"  
  
******  
  
It took a lot to make Mac Mange nervous. As leader of MKC's most powerful crime syndicate — and, later, as one half of the supervillain team called the Metallikats — he had seen and done things that would freeze a normal kat's blood. It took a lot to give Mac the creeps.  
  
This kat was accomplishing it nicely.  
  
"I trust the test run met with your expectations?" His voice alone was enough to send a shiver up Mac's fiber-optic spine.  
  
"Yeah, it was great." Molly responded. She was the one doing the talking this time — a fact for which Mac was grateful.  
  
"Excellent." The kat purred. He stroked the cat that was sitting on his lap.  
  
Mac didn't like cats. Most kats disliked being around them — for good reason, Mac thought. It was just too *weird* to see such feline features in a creature that couldn't reason — to recognize traits that reminded you of people you'd known in the face of a common pet. *No wonder they're so rare.* He thought.  
  
"Now, about that payment . . ." Molly said.  
  
"Ah, yes. The agreed-upon price, I'm sure?"  
  
"You got it. All wired to your Canine bank account."  
  
"Excellent." He repeated, standing. The cat gave Mac a wide berth as it left. "A pleasure doing business with the two of you." He extended his white-furred paw.  
  
"Ah . . . likewise." Molly accepted it reluctantly, and Mac even more so.  
  
"Do come see us again if you're ever in need."   
  
"Right." Mac made a hasty exit, followed closely by Molly.   
  
His wife blew out a relieved breath as they left the darkened office. "Was it just me," She asked, "Or did that kat give ya the creeps?"  
  
"No kiddin'. But at least we got what we came for."  
  
"Yeah." She grinned. "Look out, Swat creeps. The Metallikats are back in town!"  
  
  
******  
To Be Continued (obviously)  
******  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Just A Normal Tuesday . . .(as if!)

  
Sincere thanxes go out to SevenStar and Imagi (hope that's the right name . . .) for insights/encouragement for Maggie's codename. And of course an extra-big super-duper THANX goes out to Rayene Entei for all the moral support, the sneak preview . . . and, of course, for finding the *perfect* name for Maggie's jet. (I owe you, Raye!) Also, thanx again to Kristen Sharpe and all ya'll for all the great reviews.  
  
********************************************************************************  
  
  
"Attention, all southbound Street Division units. Four-car collision on interstate freeway near the Manx Park exit. All available units, please respond . . . ." The dispatcher's voice droned over the Enforcers-band radio.  
  
"Great." Chance's voice rang out from under a Katswagen. "More work for us. I'll bet all four of 'em show up here by noon tomorrow."  
  
"Always with the negative vibes, man." Maggie responded cheerfully, tucking a wisp of dark hair back underneath her red bandanna.   
  
"Yeah, it could be worse." Jake agreed. He and Maggie were hard at work — again — on the Deputy Mayor's green sedan. Jake sat in the driver's seat, while Maggie tinkered under the hood.  
  
"Help." Chance said. "I'm surrounded by incurable optimists."  
  
"You know us — the milk can is always half-full." Maggie grinned. "Unless, of course, it's on the living room floor."  
  
"In which case, Jake forgot to take out the garbage again." Chance teased. Jake stuck out his tongue.  
  
"You just stuck your tongue out at me, didn't ya?" Chance said.  
  
Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Aw, Chance, you know me better than that!"  
  
"Okay," Maggie interrupted, "I think I've got it." She stepped away from the exposed engine of the 'green monster'. "Try it."  
  
Jake nodded and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sprang to life, and Jake nodded in satisfaction. "Purring like a kitten."  
  
"About time." Maggie wiped her paws on the front of her grease-streaked coveralls. "You do realize that this is the second time in six months she's needed work on this thing?"  
  
"Yeah." Jake cut the engine and hopped out of the car. "I think she sabotages it so she'll have an excuse to see Chance."  
  
"Ooohh." Maggie grinned wickedly. "Chance's got a foxy she-kat chasin' him?"  
  
"Watch it, you two." Chance growled in warning, tail twitching.  
  
"Hey, your mom always said that someday you'd be beating the girls off with a stick!" Jake grinned.  
  
"And the Deputy Mayor, no less." Maggie sniffed. "Mom would be so proud."  
  
"I'm warning you guys." Chance said through gritted teeth. "If I get out from under this Katswagen . . . ."  
  
Before Chance could utter a dire threat, however, the phone rang. Jake scrambled to answer it.  
  
"Jake and Chance's Garage, Jake speaking. How can we . . . oh, hi." He nodded. "Yeah, she's here. Hang on a sec." He covered the mouthpiece with one paw and held the phone out. "It's your uncle."  
  
"Thanks." Maggie crossed the room and took the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Ketsele." Matthew had that 'we-need-to-talk' tone in his voice. "I have received a complaint from a very upset young kat about the quality of your repair work."  
  
"Ah . . ." Maggie glanced back over her shoulder at the guys. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, really. He's here now — I'll put him on the line."  
  
*Ooohhh boy.* "Okay."  
  
After a moment a small, snuffly voice came over the line. "Maggie?"  
  
She let out a relieved breath. "Hullo, Marcus. What's the matter?"  
  
"Chain came off my bike again." The boy sounded like he'd just finished crying.  
  
"Ouch." Maggie winced in sympathy. "Crash and burn, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Ma says it's gonna scar." His voice took on a note of indignance. "She can't fix my bike, either."  
  
"Don't worry about it." Maggie assured him. "I'm coming over for Thanksgiving next week — I'll fix it for you then, okay?"   
  
"Yeah." He paused, then said worriedly, "Is it true that fur won't grow back over a scar?"  
  
"Sometimes. Other times the fur just grows back a different color." She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. "You know, scars are one of the requirements of being a Swat Kat."  
  
"Really?" The kitten's voice was awed.  
  
"Oh, absolutely. I have it on very good authority that you can't be a Swat Kat unless you've got a scar." Across the room, Jake bit back a snicker.  
  
"Even if it's just on your knee?"  
  
"Those," Maggie remarked, trying to keep a straight face, "Are the best kind."  
  
"Coooool." Maggie could imagine the look of devilish glee on Marcus' face. "Okay, Maggie. See ya next Thursday. Bye."  
  
Maggie grinned as she hung up the phone. Jake stuck his head out from beneath the hood of the sedan. "Giving away our trade secrets, are we?"  
  
"Hey, anything the kitten will believe." Maggie remarked.  
  
"Remember when my dad used to tell us that the Enforcers wouldn't hire anyone who didn't eat their broccoli?" Chance rolled out from beneath the Katswagen.  
  
"Or when Jocelyn told us she'd hooked up an electric current to the lock on her diary?" Jake grinned as he slammed the hood. "Man, my sister was a piece of work."  
  
"Sounds like it." Maggie shot a look at the clock. "Ham sandwiches okay with you guys for lunch?"  
  
"Sure." Chance agreed, wiping oil off of his paws. "Why don't we —"  
  
The alarm's wailing klaxon interrupted the conversation, and Maggie shrugged.  
  
"That's the thing about living here." She remarked to no one in particular as her housemates bolted for the hangar. "It's *never* just a normal Tuesday."  
  
******  
  
"What's up?" Maggie asked, scrambling down the last few steps into the hangar. Jake and Chance were already getting into their Swat Kat gear.  
  
"The techno-lizard's back." Chance explained, zipping up his flight suit. "Only this time, it came in the way it left on Saturday." He tightened the knot in his mask. "It's already downtown." He pulled on his helmet, transformed by that simple action into another kat — or, rather, into the same kat with a vastly different attitude.  
  
"We're gonna take it out." T-Bone growled.  
  
"Right." Maggie nodded, glancing at Razor. "You mind if I take the headset?"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
As the Swat Kats leapt into the TurboKat's cockpit, Maggie took a seat at a computer console near the emergency alarm. She fitted the headset's earpiece in her ear and switched it on. "Check. Check. Hangar to TurboKat. You readin' me, guys?"  
  
"Loud and clear." Razor's voice said in her ear. "Keep it on this frequency."  
  
"You got it." She flashed her trademark thumbs-up at the already-rising jet. "Time to kick some tail."  
  
******  
  
"Coming up on downtown." Razor's voice and the background noise of the TurboKat's engines informed her. "Bringing the sky-spy online . . . now."  
  
The "sky-spy" was a small video camera, nestled under the TurboKat's right wing and linked to Maggie's console. The screen in front of her came to life as Razor switched the camera on. "Signal's loud and clear, guys. I see what you see." Maggie punched a few commands into the keyboard, increasing the picture's magnification. "And I don't think I like it much."  
  
"That makes three of us." T-Bone responded. Although he didn't have the sky-spy's ability to zoom in, he could see well enough.  
  
The techno-lizard was once again strolling along at a leisurely pace, acting as though it were out for a walk — and it was plowing its way through downtown lunch traffic in the process. Every once in a while it would turn its tail and randomly smash a building, or use its "jaws" to snap a light pole. Katizens were fleeing before it in terror.   
  
"Let's rock and roll." T-Bone pulled the jet into a dive. "Razor, how 'bout getting it's attention?"  
  
"You got it." His partner purred. "Let's see how it likes a scrambler missile."  
  
Maggie lashed her tail. "This is so not fair. You guys get to have all the fun."  
  
"Swat Kats." Razor quipped. "It's not just a job, it's an adventure." Then his voice turned more serious. "Launching scrambler missile . . .now."  
  
The scrambler hit the techno-lizard in the back of the head, clinging to the metal with its four arms and releasing a burst of electricity. Bright white bolts of energy snaked across the lizard's metal skin.  
  
"That oughta do it." Razor said with satisfaction . . .  
  
But the robot merely shook its head, knocking the missile off onto the street, and wheeled around to look up at the TurboKat. A pair of panels in it shoulder blades folded open.  
  
"Ah . . . T-Bone?" Razor said. "I think we got its attention."  
  
"Yeah." His partner responded, "But now I'm beginnin' to wonder if we really want it."  
  
From beneath the lizard's metal skin, a pair of what could only be missile launchers appeared.  
  
"I'm almost positive that *that* can't be a good thing." Maggie muttered. Her view changed as the TurboKat pulled back.  
  
"We're talking some major shielding, buddy." Razor noted. "That scrambler didn't even phase it. This isn't gonna be easy."  
  
"If it were easy," T-Bone responded as the techno-lizard opened fire, "They wouldn't need Swat Kats!"  
  
The quartet of missiles that shrieked into view seemed pretty standard, heading in on a basic intercept course. T-Bone pulled into an evasive maneuver, while Razor shot the missiles down one by one . . .  
  
"Hey, this is better than television." Maggie quipped. "We should sell tickets."  
  
"No snide remarks from the peanut gallery!" T-Bone shot back. The techno-lizard released another barrage — again, of seemingly plain-looking missiles that headed straight for the TurboKat.  
  
At the last second, however, one of the missiles broke formation, avoiding Razor's counterattacks and swerving so that it was heading . . . straight for the sky-spy!  
  
Maggie gave in to her reflexes and ducked as the screen went blank. There was a burst of static in her ear . . .   
  
*oh crud oh crud oh crud oh crud oh crud . . . .* Maggie scrambled back into her chair, shouting into the headset. "Razor, T-Bone! Talk to me, guys . . . you still there?"  
  
"Affirmative." Maggie let out a relieved breath. The channel was partially clouded by background static, but T-Bone's voice was unmistakable.  
  
"Now *that* was weird." Razor said. "It didn't take out anything major . . . just the sky-spy and some secondary communications." A small burst of static wiped out a few of his words. ". . . sideswiped us."  
  
"Sideswiped . . . ." Maggie's eyebrows shot up. Reaching up to the earpiece, she switched the headset from the cockpit frequency to the computer's voice-command program. "Sky-spy footage. Display last frame." The screen obliged with the image of the incoming missile. "Rewind. Fifteen seconds." Now the missile was farther away, but screaming in. "Freeze."  
  
The image froze, black-and-gray missile against the blue-and-white sky. "Zoom in." She moved forward until her face was only six inches from the screen. "Enlarge panel 7-C." The fragment of image grew to fill the screen, so large that its pixels were fuzzy — but Maggie saw what she was looking for. A logo — the letters done in sweeping slashes, like claw marks.  
  
The trademark of MegaKat Defense Systems.  
  
Maggie sat back, staring at the image on the screen. Only one kat in all the world would have the nerve to use that logo.  
  
"MacClawed." Maggie hissed, feeling her ears lay back flat against her bandanna. She reached up to switch the headset back to the cockpit frequency . . .  
  
And then the alarm went off.  
  
******  
  
Maggie, startled, leapt out of her chair with such force that it tipped over and skidded across the floor. Then she simply stared for a moment at the flashing light and wailing klaxon above the emergency intercom.  
  
*Ooookay.* Maggie twitched her tail as she crossed the few steps to the wall. *I'm an ex-Enforcer and a soon-to-be Swat Kat. I can handle this.*  
  
She smacked her palm against the intercom button. "Hello?"   
  
*Brilliant way to answer the Swat Kats' phone.* She reflected as soon as the word left her mouth.  
  
"Huh?" The voice on the other end was *definitely* not Calico Briggs. It was a he-kat's voice, deep and harsh; with a downtown accent so thick it showed up even in the one-syllable word.  
  
"Hey Molly!" The voice beckoned. "This ain't the Swat Kats I got. This is a broad!"  
  
Maggie's mind raced, matching the name Molly with the thick accent of the speaker . . . . *Metallikats.*  
  
"See if ya can figure this out, Molly." Mac Mange said — and, Maggie assumed, he handed the comm to his wife.  
  
"Hey!" Molly's voice growled. "Who is this?"  
  
"Would you believe . . . the maid?" Maggie quipped nervously.  
  
"Look, wise kat," Mac snarled impatiently from the background, "Ya got ten seconds to answer me or the deputy mayor loses her pretty blonde ponytail. Can the Swat Kats hear this or not?"  
  
"Yes." Maggie responded quickly. *Actually, probably not. T-Bone would be saying something rude by now if he were listening.*  
  
"Good." Mac raised his voice. "Heya, Swat Chumps! Hope yer havin' fun playing with our new toy, but yer gonna have to cut it short. 'Cause my trigger claw's gettin' pretty itchy up here in this office . . . ."  
  
"Get to the point, Mac." Molly interrupted peevishly.   
  
"Alright, Molly. Geeze, gimme a break." He snapped. "Look, youse two got half an hour to be at City Hall, an' if yer not here to stop us . . ." He paused dramatically, "We waste the deputy mayor!"  
  
*Ah, CRUD!* Maggie clenched her fists. *No way the guys can finish this fight in thirty minutes.*  
  
"It's that old dilemma." Molly purred sarcastically. "Save the city or save the she-kat."  
  
"Bet I know which one Meat Boy's gonna go for, too." Mac's voice held a smirk. "Oh, and don't try ta divide an' conquer, either . . . MacClawed's little toy will take ya out before yer clear of the jet."  
  
"Bye now!" Molly chirped, and cut the line.  
  
"MacClawed. I KNEW it!" Maggie snarled as she retrieved her chair and once again opened the channel to the TurboKat.  
  
"Razor, T-Bone! You still with me, guys?"  
  
"Roger that." T-Bone's voice echoed over the static. "What's up?"  
  
"Trouble." She briefly outlined her conversation with the Metallikats.  
  
"*Crud*." T-Bone snarled. Maggie was fairly sure she could hear the sound of his balled fist making contact with the control panel.   
  
"There's no way we can let this thing run loose." Razor said. "It'll destroy this whole neighborhood."  
  
"But there's no way we can let that pair of tin creeps hurt Callie, either." His partner pointed out. "Looks like we're stuck between a real rock and a hard place."  
  
"We're not out of options yet, guys." Maggie interjected. "Listen, Cha — T-Bone," She corrected quickly, "How long do you think it's gonna be before you take this thing out?"  
  
"Depends on how long his shields can hold out." He replied. "You got something in mind?"  
  
"Maybe." She glanced around the hangar. "Razor, I need a way into City Hall."  
  
She could almost hear the grin in his voice. "You got it." After a few moments the display in front of her came to life with a green-on-black line schematic. A brighter-green line ran through the center of the building.  
  
"Main elevator shaft." Razor explained. "Runs from the top floor all the way down into the below ground sub-levels — including the parking lot. Opens directly down the hall from the mayor's office."  
  
"Awesome." Maggie purred.  
  
"You're planning on going in there?" Razor asked.  
  
"Hey, if the short circuit gang is dealing with *me*, then they're not after the deputy mayor — right, T-Bone?"   
  
"Right." T-Bone sounded more skeptical than sure. "Are you sure about this?"  
  
"Relax." Maggie assured him. "I know almost exactly what I'm doing. Just wrap up the fun and games with the techno-lizard and meet me at City Hall ASAP."  
  
"Roger that." T-Bone returned grudgingly. "Watch your tail."  
  
"Yep. Watch yours. Over and out."  
  
Maggie cut the channel and stood up. "Well, now I've got twenty-five minutes." *And no real plan.* She glanced down at her grease-streaked mechanic's coveralls. *I can't go fighting crime in these, that's for sure.*  
  
******  
  
"Kats, this mask itches." Maggie muttered as she put on her helmet. "Remind me to invest in some cotton bandannas."  
  
The flight suit she was wearing was exactly like those worn by the other two Swat Kats — long-sleeved and slightly loose like Razor's, but fitting closer in the torso. As a matter of fact, it was one of Razor's extras — and since Maggie was almost two inches taller than Razor, it was slightly too short in the sleeves. Maggie shrugged and rolled the sleeves up above her elbows. Once the Talon was constructed, she thought offhandedly, she'd need a flight suit in her own size. A flight suit that didn't fit properly wouldn't be able to do its real job, which was forcing blood through the circulatory system at high-G's.  
  
"But for now," She informed the empty hangar, "This will be good enough."  
  
Maggie pulled on a pair of black flight boots — the guys preferred to go barefoot, but she couldn't stand it — and crossed the room to Razor's workbench. Spread out on the well-lighted surface were components of various shapes, sizes, and colors, weapons in various stages of repair . . . and one of the extra glovatrixes. She picked it up and examined it dubiously.  
  
"Don't suppose this comes in a southpaw version." Maggie said. "Left-pawed kats are an oppressed minority." With a persecuted sigh, Maggie slid the bulky glove over her right paw.   
  
"Now, see, I *could* have finished learning how to use one of these, but nooo . . ." She rolled her eyes. "I decided to watch a Scaredy-Kat marathon instead. That's what I get for letting Chance be my influence." Switching on the glove's power pack, Maggie eyed the array of pressure-sensitive pads in the glovatrix's palm, then groaned. "I'll be lucky if I don't blow my arm off."  
  
*Okay, Blackclaw, cut the chitchat.* Her Enforcers training demanded. *You need a way to City Hall, and you need a way there NOW.*  
  
Maggie's eyes roamed the hangar . . . and then lit up. A reckless grin played at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, yeah . . . ."  
  
******  
  
Razor studied the screens before him, then the opponent far below him. "Okay, I've got an idea. Take her down."  
  
"Roger that." T-Bone responded as the jet lost altitude. He paused. "You think Maggie's okay?"  
  
Before Razor could respond, the light from a tracking signal caught his attention. He grinned. "Oh, yeah." He replied. "I think Maggie's doing just fine."  
  
******  
  
  
"YEEEEEESSSS!" Maggie shouted jubilantly. "I LOVE this job!" Weaving the cyclotron in and out of traffic at speeds that Sirocco couldn't even think of obtaining, Maggie sped towards City Hall.   
  
******  
  
Mac Mange grinned smugly at Callie Briggs, a stopwatch in one paw and a nasty-looking laser weapon in the other. "Ten minutes, doll." He held the watch up mockingly. "Tick, tick, tick."  
  
"Don't worry." Callie shot back defiantly. "The Swat Kats will find a way to beat you *and* that robot monster."  
  
"Well, they better hurry." Molly said smugly from her position by the door. "Now they got nine and a half minutes."  
  
"They'll be here." Callie snapped. Her gaze strayed to the city outside the window. *I hope.*  
  
The spiderlike chrome object on the desk beside Mac gave off a low, menacing buzz. He glanced at it. "Hey, Molly? We got someone in the parkin' garage."  
  
Molly, confused, glanced down at the monitor in her paws. "The Swat Kats're still busy with the techno-lizard." She shrugged and looked up. "Must just be some poor kat who's in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
  
Mac grinned slyly. "Yeah." He reached over and manipulated a few controls on the underneath of the chrome "spider." "Yeah, I know just what ya mean."  
  
******  
  
Maggie cut the engine and stepped off the cyclotron, half-grinning as the computer's voice informed her that the security systems had engaged.  
  
"Super-charged turbo jet engine, anti-lock brakes, available security system — zero to sixty in point nine seconds. Yes, folks, *this* is the vehicle of the future." She glanced around the mostly-empty parking garage — apparently, most of the employees had fled the building when the Metallikats took over. *Just as well. No civilian factor.*  
  
"Now, then . . ." The elevator wasn't hard to spot, especially since there were signs reading "ELEVATOR —" all over the place. Maggie twitched her tail and followed the signs, her footsteps echoing in the concrete cavern.  
  
*I KNOW it isn't going to be this easy.* She reflected as she approached the elevator. *It CAN'T be this easy. Because, if it WERE this easy . . . .* She stopped as a faint buzzing sound reached her ears from behind, "They wouldn't need Swat Kats."  
  
Maggie whirled around, expecting the buzzing to be accompanied by something fast and dangerous.  
  
She wasn't disappointed.   
  
The robot drones were chrome-colored and vaguely spider shaped, bristling with what looked like very nasty laser weapons. "Oh, boy."  
  
Maggie ducked and rolled as the first of the five drones opened fire. Laser fire left a line of scorch marks on the wall behind her as she dropped into a crouch.  
  
*Oh, kats, I hope I remember how to use this thing . . . .* Maggie glanced down at the glovatrix for a moment — and another laser bolt streaked by only a few millimeters from her right ear.  
  
"Okay, far too close for my liking!" She growled, raising the glovatrix. "Adios, shiny — I don't like guys who mess with my hair!" *Third pad from the left — tap it twice . . . *  
  
The drone disappeared in a shower of sparks.  
  
"YEAH!" Another bolt from one of the other drones cut the celebration short, and Maggie scrambled behind a car for protection. She whistled in appreciation. "Sixty-nine Chevrolet Impala. I don't know who ya are," She muttered to the car's absent owner, "But I envy you."  
  
Another flurry of laser bolts — including a volley that rocked the Impala. Maggie bared her fangs as she leapt to her feet.  
  
"Okay, I *was* being patient," She opened fire, "But *nobody* dents a car like this and gets away with it!"  
  
Maggie allowed herself a glow of satisfaction as three other drones went down. *All right! I'm shooting them down, AND I'm coming up with witty one-liners. I might just be cut out for this business after all.*  
  
Unfortunately, the weapon she'd been using only came with a limited number of charges — as she realized when she once again tapped the palmpad and nothing happened.  
  
"Ooo. That can't be good." She softly ran her fingers along the glovatrix's palm, fingering pads as she tried to remember what they did. The last drone was getting closer.  
  
"Ah, forget it!" She randomly dug her finger into a pad, aiming at the fifth drone. "Hit hard and hope!"  
  
A mini-octopus missile caught the drone in mid-flight, seizing it and sending it crashing to the floor. Maggie stepped over it on her way to the elevator. Turning as she entered the elevator, she surveyed the damaged drones and the battle-scarred Impala.  
  
"Well," She remarked to no one in particular as the elevator doors slid shut, "That was fun."  
  
******  
  
"I swear," Maggie growled, leaning against the side of the elevator, "If I have to listen to ONE MORE song by Elton John, I am *shooting* the Muzak player." She glowered at the offending speaker, which cheerfully continued to play soft, annoying elevator music. "This has been the longest elevator ride of my life." *Especially since the circuit's been fried or overloaded or something, and the stupid elevator's been stopping at every floor.*  
  
She shot a glance at the floor indicator above the door. Eleventh floor and rising . . . and Callie's office, if she'd remembered correctly, was on the twelfth floor . . .  
  
"Which means this is where I get off." She announced as the elevator stopped once again. As if on cue, the speaker began playing the opening strains of "Candle in the Wind." Maggie glanced at the speaker, then at the glovatrix.  
  
"I shouldn't. I really shouldn't."  
  
But she did anyway.  
  
******  
  
"One minute." Mac held the stopwatch up once again as he got to his feet. "Got any last words?"  
  
"None you'd want to hear." Callie stuck her chin out defiantly.  
  
"Aw, how heroic." Molly leveled her weapon at Callie. "Brave ta the bitter end . . ."  
  
"Y'know, you said I had thirty minutes. And that was . . . twenty-nine minutes, thirty seconds ago."  
  
"Huh?" Molly whirled around to face the door — just as Maggie kicked it open.  
  
"I've still got twenty-nine seconds." Maggie growled. She held the glovatrix up. "Let's think of a way to spend it, shall we?"  
  
"Hey, what is this?" Mac demanded. Crossing the room, he roughly grabbed Callie's elbow.  
  
"This," Maggie grinned, "Is you. And this is you, on cement." She clenched her fist, crossing the third and second fingers as she did so. A huge glob of Razor's special-blend cement knocked the weapon out of Mac's robotic paw. "Any questions?"  
  
"Yeah," Molly hissed as she lunged forward, "Where do ya want us ta send yer remains?"  
  
"Oh, any old place." Maggie chirped — as she dropped to her knees and rolled left. Molly hit the floor — and came up snarling, metallic talons unsheathed.  
  
"Why you . . ."  
  
"Ooops, watch what you say!" Maggie taunted, stepping away from the dangerous swinging claws. "Never know when you'll regret it later."  
  
"Mac!" Molly commanded, still snarling. "A little help, here!"  
  
"Sure thing, Molly." Mac shoved the deputy mayor backwards into a chair and advanced to stand next to his wife.  
  
"Oh, come *on*." Maggie said, still backing up. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to put all your eggs in one basket?" She thumbed one of the pads on the glovatrix's side. "Or was that one net?"  
  
The weighted net that she launched was another one of Razor's special blends — this one, a deunimite-titanium alloy strong enough to withstand even Molly's razor-keen claws. The Metallikats, hopelessly entangled, fell backwards in a heap.  
  
Maggie glanced at Callie Briggs, who was getting to her feet. "You alright, Miss Briggs?"  
  
"Yes, I . . .I'm fine. Do I . . ." Callie wrinkled her brow. "I don't think I quite understand."  
  
"It's pretty simple, Miss Briggs. I'm one of the Swat Kats. And I'm gonna keep an eye on these two," She jerked her thumb at the Metallikats, "While you find a working phone and call the Enforcers. If you don't mind."  
  
Callie grinned. "Sounds like a plan." She agreed, crossing to the door. Then she paused. "Thank you."  
  
Maggie grinned. "Anytime."  
  
She watched Callie exit the office, then turned to her captives. *Of course, I've used up all of the weapons that I know how to fire. But THEY don't need to know that.*  
  
Maggie smirked and did her best to hold the Glovatrix in a threatening position. "Okay, shinies. Let's talk about MacClawed."  
  
  
******  
TBC  
******  
  
  
Whew! Longest chapter yet — and no, I'm *still* not done (Got a few loose ends I wanna tie up — and you guys *still* don't know what Maggie's codename is! It's all part of my fiendish plot to keep you in perpetual suspense . . . .) However I'm going to be away from the desk for at least two weeks, so the next chapter is going to take at least a month. (Sorries! But I actually *do* have a life apart from fanfic.) So keep on watching, guys. We're a frog's hair away from finishing this thing!  



	8. A Code Name at Last!

  
A/N: One month . . . three months . . . they're sort of the same thing. Sorry to keep you guys in suspense for so long — life intruded on my writing for a while there. Yeah, *this* is the chapter where you finally get to learn Maggie's code name! But first, a public service announcement:  
WE THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES support the victims of the Sept. 11th tragedy. Remember the dead. Fight for the living. United we stand.  
Okay, that said — on to the fic!  
********************************************************************************  
  
"Yeeeeah-ha!!" T-Bone howled triumphantly. "Take *that*, techno creep!"  
  
"Shield readings at fifteen percent . . . twelve . . . ten . . . ." Razor's voice held an obvious note of proud satisfaction. "We've got him, buddy."  
  
"Those baby boomer missiles did the trick." T-Bone agreed. He craned his neck and examined the weakening techno-lizard below. "Let's take him down."  
  
"Roger that." Razor thumbed one of the cockpit's many firing buttons. "Buzzsaw missiles — deployed!"  
  
"Sliced and diced." T-Bone announced smugly as the robot creature hit the ground with a screech.  
  
"And right on cue," Razor interjected, glancing off to the right, "Here come the Enforcers."  
  
A trio of Enforcer choppers came into view a moment later, hovering over the wreck of the techno-lizard.  
  
"Well, I'd say they can handle it from here." T-Bone pulled the TurboKat into a wide turn. "We're makin' tracks for city hall."  
  
******  
  
Maggie glanced at the timekeeper on her glovatrix. "Well, I think the guys should be done with your little toy by now." She sat at the deputy mayor's desk, booted feet propped up and Molly's energy weapon in hand. The Metallikats, disentangled from her net, were now bound paw and foot with high-density cord. "By the way, does MacClawed still have that cat?"  
  
Mac scowled in reply, and Maggie shrugged.  
  
"You know, you're impossible to talk to when you're sulking."  
  
Hearing footsteps approaching in the hallway outside, Maggie turned her attention to the door. She stood as the deputy mayor entered the room, flanked by a pair of Enforcers on either side.   
  
Callie nodded at her. "These guys can take it from here." She said, as the four approached the Metallikats.  
  
Maggie smiled back, placing Molly's gun on the desk. "Good." She jerked her chin at the Metallikats. "Holding a conversation with these two is like pulling teeth. Took me five minutes just to get them to tell me who gave them that techno-lizard."  
  
One of the Enforcers glanced at her, frowning slightly. "And you are?"  
  
"Relax, Captain." Maggie replied in a soothing tone. "I'm one of the good guys." She glanced in Callie's direction. "Just ask Miss Briggs."  
  
"She's right, Captain Muller." Callie lifted her chin. "She can be trusted with the information. Just see to it that those two end up in the proper paws."  
  
Muller snapped a casual salute. "You got it, Miss Briggs." Seizing Molly's arm with one paw, he motioned his team out of the room with the other.  
  
Maggie leaned against the doorframe as they left. "Pulling rank when you're not even in the Enforcers. I'm impressed, Miss Briggs."  
  
Callie smiled. "Years of running a city will teach that to a girl." Then she frowned, still confused. "I'm sorry . . . I've got this strange feeling that I know you. Have we . . . ."  
  
"Not likely." Maggie replied, straightening up. "I keep to myself."  
  
Callie didn't seem all that convinced, but she let the question drop. "Anyway, you saved my life. I owe you one."  
  
"Forget it." Maggie grinned, leaving the office. "We've got a customer service program." She called back over her shoulder. "The first rescue is free!"  
  
As she headed towards the elevator, her helmet communicator buzzed to life. "TurboKat to Swat Kat One." Razor's voice beckoned. "You'd better be wearing your helmet."  
  
"Like I'd really ride a *Cyclotron* without it." Maggie replied sarcastically. "Where are you guys?"  
  
"Above your head, if you're in City Hall." T-Bone replied. "And don't look now, but you ain't getting out of there without a Kat's Eye photo op and an Enforcers interview."  
  
Maggie groaned and rolled her eyes. "What are the odds that Feral *won't* be there?"  
  
"*I* wouldn't bet on 'em."  
  
"Well," Maggie sighed as she entered the elevator, "At least we won't be in a courtroom, this time."  
  
******  
  
The Enforcers who were adding up the damages and collection evidence in the parking garage eyed Maggie with varying degrees of suspicion, mild annoyance, and thinly veiled admiration. The last look was the most common — and she suspected it had more to do with the Swat Kat uniform she was wearing that with anything else.   
  
The fresh-faced Corporal standing guard over the Cyclotron was no different. Shoving honey-blonde hair out of her face and shouldering her rifle, she gave Maggie — of all things — a quick salute as she stepped away from the vehicle."Bang-up job ya did down here." She said, indicating the shattered attack drones.  
  
"Thanks." Maggie grinned, deactivating the Cyclotron's security systems.  
  
The corporal glanced enviously at the Cyclotron. "Bet that's a heck of a ride."  
  
"Sure is." Maggie glanced toward the entrance of the parking garage. Realizing that she was going to have to walk the Cyclotron to the street because of the crowd, she gave the Enforcer a quick, laid-back salute and seized the bike by the handlebars. "Keep up the good work."  
  
"Same to you."  
  
*Well, well.* Maggie thought with a mental chuckle. *Looks like not all the Enforcers in this town hate us as much as Feral. That's good to know.*  
  
Lost in thought, Maggie hardly notice when she stepped out into the bright November afternoon — until the clamoring voices of half-a-dozen kats broke into her thoughts.  
  
"Excuse me, miss! If I can just ask you . . . ."  
  
"I'm with the Amerikat Broadcasting Corporation . . . ."  
  
"Enforcers Investigative Branch. We have some questions for you . . . ."  
  
The noise was enough to make Maggie want to cover her ears. Steadying the Cyclotron with one paw, she held the other up in a request for quiet. The crowd of civilian onlookers and City Hall employees grew somewhat quieter — but the small knot of reporters and Enforcers who were crowded around her didn't.  
  
"Now, look . . ." Maggie began. The words were barely spoken, however, before she was interrupted.   
  
"Excuse me! Kat's Eye News, coming through!" A vaguely Siamese-looking she-kat elbowed and clawed her way through the crowd, followed closely by a brawny camerakat. Ignoring the protests of the other reporters, the she-kat turned to face the camera lens.  
  
"Ann Gora here for Kat's Eye News, reporting live from the scene of an amazing hostage situation. Only moments ago Commander Feral's team of Enforcers received a phone call from deputy mayor Callie Briggs. Briggs was believed to be held hostage by the vicious Metallikats, Mac and Molly Mange. However, the Enforcers arrived to discover the deputy mayor freed and the Metallikats disarmed, apparently thanks to this strange she-kat." Gora turned and shoved the mike in Maggie's face. "Do you have anything to say?"  
  
Maggie blinked, keenly aware that several cameras besides Gora's were focused on her. "Ah . . .well . . . ."   
  
*Kats, Maggie, you're on TV. At least TRY and put together a coherent sentence.*  
  
"Is there a reason you're dressed like one of the Swat Kats?" Gora demanded. "Have you joined the team?"  
  
Maggie brushed her ever-present bangs out of her eyes. "I prefer to think of it as . . . lending a paw to some friends in need." She replied, using uncle Matt's old trick to disguise her voice. *Maybe not much of a disguise, but it should be enough.*  
  
"I see. Will you be staying in MegaKat City, miss . . . ?" Ann Gora inquired, not even bothering to disguise the leading question.  
  
Maggie grinned. "The name's Hurricane, Miss Gora." She turned to head for the street. "And you can count on it."  
  
As she wheeled the Cyclotron away, the crowd parted in front of her in a scene worthy of Hollywood. At the edge of the crowd, Mac and Molly Mange were being escorted into an Enforcers paddy wagon, and a familiar jet soared into view in the sky above.   
  
Maggie — *no, it's Hurricane when I'm in character* — grinned. "A she-kat could get used to this." She murmured.  
  
"Just a moment!" A harsh voice boomed from behind her.  
  
*Uh-oh.* Hurricane turned to find herself face to face with Commander Ulysses Feral.  
  
"Hi there." She purred, fighting a sudden swell of anger. The last time they'd faced each other, he had openly accused her of being a traitor.  
  
"I've got a few questions for you, Swat Kat."  
  
Hurricane jerked her chin in the direction of the Metallikats. "Ask *them* the questions, Commander. They're the criminals here."  
  
"I haven't determined that yet."  
  
"Oh?" Hurricane's tail twitched and her voice grew low. "And what did I do wrong, exactly? Was it saving the deputy mayor? Or capturing the Metallikats, perhaps?"  
  
"I . . ." Feral seemed at a loss for words.  
  
"I didn't even break anything." She shook her head. "You've got nothing on me *this* time, Feral." She turned around once more.  
  
"*This* time." Feral agreed. "There will be others."  
  
"Count on it." She shot back. *I still owe you one.*  
  
But then again . . . .  
  
Hurricane broke into a secretive grin as she mounted the Cyclotron. "Commander." She once again indicated the Metallikats. "Ask *them* about James MacClawed." She started the ignition.  
  
"MacClawed?" Feral was startled. "How did you . . .?"  
  
"Just ask them, Feral. I guarantee the results will surprise you." Hurricane glanced upwards at the pair of kats in the jet above, then grinned and flashed a thumbs-up. They returned the signal, and she gunned the Cyclotron's engine. Still grinning, she looked over her shoulder at Feral. "Give my regards to the Canines."  
  
As jet and cycle roared away, Ann Gora once again turned to face the camera. "There you have it, katizens of MKC. We've just witnessed the birth of a new Swat Kat — and Kat's Eye News was there. This is Ann Gora. Back to you, Tom."  
  
******  
THREE DAYS LATER  
******  
  
"And, in other news," The television newskat declared, "Fugitive weapons designer James MacClawed was extradited from Canis today after four years of hiding from law enforcement officials."  
  
Matthew Blackclaw turned from his place at the kitchen sink to watch the screen, where a downcast kat with white fur and piercing blue eyes was being led away by a squad of Enforcers. Matt smiled. "Well, now . . . ."  
  
"MacClawed was wanted for questioning concerning the infamous Hurricane Squadron incident, which left five Enforcer pilots dead during the Desert War." The announcer explained. "He was arrested and extradited after testimonies from both of the Metallikats implicated him as the designer and supplier of this weapon," The scene cut to footage of the techno-lizard's rampage, "Which terrorized downtown MegaKat City for more than an hour on Tuesday. It was defeated by the city's resident vigilantes, the Swat Kats, while the Metallikats were captured by the newest Swat Kat, who goes by the code name Hurricane."  
  
The screen was filled with a photograph of the vigilante in question. Matthew's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to the line of photos on the counter. A slow smile crept over his features as he glanced at the television once more. Matt chuckled. "Well, now. Well, now." Drying his paws, he reached for the photograph of his younger brother and examined it thoughtfully.   
  
"You always told me not to count her out, didn't you?" He shook his head gently, still smiling. "You would be proud of your little girl, Michael." He set the photograph down, watching the knowing gleam in his brother's eye. Matthew chuckled again.  
  
"Yes. You would be very, very proud of your little hurricane."  
  
Still chuckling, Matthew Blackclaw went back to doing the dishes.  
  
******  
Continued in the Epilogue  
******  



	9. Epilogue: Where She Belongs

Dec. 24

one mile south & three

stories below MKC

The hangar was almost dark, the halogen lights in the ceiling shut off to conserve energy. Only the widely-spaced fluorescent tubes that provided emergency lighting still shone, albeit dimly. From upstairs, a radio playing Christmas carols mingled with laughter from the David Litterbin Show. And in the wide space of the main hangar, two jets sat side by side . . . .

Maggie ran her fingers along the gleaming surface of the instrument panel, pausing every so often to name an instrument.

"Altimeter . . . turbo-boosters . . . VTOL mode . . . ." Finally, she leaned back with a sigh. "Well, kitten, it's all there." She grinned. "And it only took me four months."

Thanksgiving had passed without incident, (unless you counted the collision between Eppie Schultz and a bowl of cranberries as an incident) and the Christmas season was almost over. Hurricane hadn't had any reason to make an appearance since MacClawed's trial, and Maggie had devoted all of her spare time to her pet project.

The Talon.

She put her paws out again, reassuring herself that she really was sitting in her own cockpit. Everything was right where it should be — even down to having the most vital instruments on her left-hand side. Maggie couldn't help but laugh."It has been way too long."

MacClawed's had been the most-publicized trial since O.J. Simpkat's "trial of the century." The U.S. had finally gotten its claws on the kat who had killed its finest fighter squadron — and MacClawed hadn't gotten off easy.

Maggie reached into the inner pocket of her coveralls and fished out a battered photograph. "See, guys? I promised you I'd get him."

Hurricane Squadron posed in front of an old-style F-14 Tomkat, trying their best to look like a squadron from a jet-fighter movie. Scott Lewis flashed a wide grin and a thumbs-up; Salena gave her best "don't-try-anything" stare; Felix and Tami gazed at each other, lovestruck; and Tom just stood by, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

The Maggie Blackclaw in the photograph stood dead center, leaning back against the jet and giving the camera a green-eyed gaze. Maggie had to smile. Only four years ago. But it seems like a lifetime.

Maggie found a blank spot to the right of the console and carefully wedged the snapshot into place.

"There." She said softly. "Now it's my plane."

"Maggie?" Chance's voice rang from the top of the stairs. "You still down here?"

"Yeah." Maggie hoisted herself out of the cockpit and leapt to the floor. "I'm just about finished."

"Good." Chance said, coming the rest of the way down the stairs into the dimly-lit hangar. "Jake's going nuts with the tinsel and gingerbread up there."

Maggie snorted. "Doesn't surprise me. That kat gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Christmas spirit.'"

"I didn't notice." Chance grinned. "We wanted to know what you were doing down here."

"And visions of Christmas gifts danced in their heads." Maggie snickered. "I wasn't wrapping, if that's what you're thinking. This Santa Claws has her gifts safely tucked away until tomorrow."

Chance looked vaguely disappointed. "Well, what were you doing?"

Maggie waved a paw at the black, red, and silver jet behind her. "Just some finishing touches."

Chance rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Maggs. You've been putting on 'finishing touches' for the past month. The jet's been painted, polished, armed, and gassed up. What else can we do to it?"

Maggie's eyes gained a spark of mischief. "Well, for starters," She raised an eyebrow, "You can give me a boost."

"Mmmph." Chance grunted, struggling to maintain his balance. "Hurry it up, Maggie."

"No rushing me." Maggie retorted from her perch on Chance's shoulders. "This is artistic genius at work."

"I don't care if you're Pi-kat-so," He growled. "Your tail is ticklin' my ears and you weigh more thanJake."

"Hey, Einstein, I've got paint up here. Watch with the weight comments — unless you want silver paint from ear to eyebrow." She shifted her weight. "Try to hold still."

"My mask would cover it." Chance retorted. "And if you're not down in about ten seconds I'm gonna . . . ."

"There." Maggie interrupted, popping the lid onto the paint can. "Finished."

It was a familiar design — the letters done in sweeping slashes, as if Maggie had carved the jet's name with a single claw. The fast-drying silver paint still gleamed in the dim fluorescent light.

KETSELE

Maggie hopped down off of Chance's shoulders and put the paint can back in its proper place. Then she turned with a grin.

"Did you say Jake was making gingerbread?"

As the two friends reached the top of the stairs, Maggie turned once more to look at her plane. Chance grinned and elbowed her ribs.

"Ya know, I hate to cop a line from 'Katsablanca' . . ." He began, "But I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Maggie chuckled. "I think you're right." Then her eyes regained the glint of mischief. "Hey, Chance?"

"Yeah?"

"Last one to the kitchen's a tuna breath!"

They raced up the ladder to the living area, leaving the Ketsele sitting next to the TurboKat.

Where she was meant to be.

The End

A/N — Yes, the end. After nine months and countless hours, my first work of "real" fanfiction is complete!

So many sincere thanxes go out to everyone — Timva, Raye, Imagi, Kristen Sharpe . . . okay, I can't name everyone. I'll be here all night! So I'll just say this — Everyone who read, reviewed, and e-mailed with help, comments, and suggestions, you are the greatest! Thank you for hanging in through this extremely long and sometimes frustrating process of writing, posting, and waiting. Love ya'll!! And . . . yeah . . . stick a fork in me . . . I'm done.

Skybright Daye


End file.
